So You're Evan Branson?
by Ember Carsyn
Summary: With Rachel dead, Bruce sees no future. But as he develops an internet friendship with a former friend from Princeton and starts to learn from Alfred basic life skills-with lots of burnt food involved- black and white begins to blur into a nebulous grey, as his friend also fights with hr own issues. Between TDK/TDKR. Nolan-verse-ish sorta
1. Chapter 1-UPDATED

**Author's Note:**

**Alright. This is the edited version. I haven't acquired the rights to Batman since then. This is Nolan-verse between TDK and TDKR as much as I can be while inserting an OC. **

**Reviews are welcome, even though this is, unless something goes crazy, the final version full of edits. For anyone who has read it before and noted all the spots I need to fix, updates will be coming, but slowly. I'm swamped in papers, trying to get employment, and this is close to 260,000 words that I need to go through and proofread more closely. I'm probably going to have to rewrite entire chapters to keep the narration more easily, and add a few things, but that'll take longer and is iffy. Plot bunny dependance and all. **

_One Year After Rachel's Death_

I didn't want to get out of bed. I knew what today was without needing to check the watch I'd set on my nightstand, the alarm clock, the cellphone I had on silent, or anything else. I could feel it in my soul. It's been a year. One year. I remember when my parents died, the feeling of loss that just didn't go away. I managed, over the years, to create a way to keep smiling, even if it was fake, a cover for the Batman, but now? Now my only shot at life without Batman is gone—I have no hope for my future. My hope died because I wasn't there; because I feel for the Joker's ways—for Jack Napier's clever schemes. Instead, I rescued her boyfriend, the ass who turned into a murderer, and for whose crimes, the Batman had taken the fall. Now, I could no longer roam the streets. I didn't want to anymore. Gotham could go to hell for all I cared. Sometimes, in the back of my mind, I wish Henri , no, Raz al Ghul had succeeded. I wonder what would have happened if I had sided with him. I shake the thought out of my head forcibly, knowing that Rachel would hate it if I considered doing the wrong thing again. But then, did I ever do anything Rachel thought of as the right thing?

I lie in bed, feeling the silken sheets on my bare torso, realizing I should take a shower, until my alarm goes off at ten am. Right on time, Alfred comes in, still bearing the green foul tasting concoction I took to drinking in the mornings, or afternoons really, when I'd wake up after spending the night as Batman. It apparently contained nutrients that I sorely needed. As I drank it, he pulled open the curtains and I could see the healed scars on my body that I tried to avoid looking at. It was like I was ashamed of them. Because I had failed. Gotham had needed a white knight, not a dark knight. So the memories of Harvey Dent remained untarnished. I hadn't even explained to Alfred ever what had really fully transpired. I'd just told him "I had to."

"How are you today Master Wayne?" Alfred inquired, the same fatherly look of worry on his face that's been there always; new lines etch into his face, and I realize how old Alfred is for the first time really. I can't lose him.

"It's been a year Alfred," I moan, knowing I sound like a petulant spoiled brat child who couldn't get two scoops of ice cream, or some such nonsense. I didn't get the girl, that's what. And to me, that means everything for now. I don't have anyone to talk to except Alfred, and back when I needed his help, Fox.

He gives me a look I can't decipher. "You should do something other than lie around; her mother called and asked if you wanted to go with her this evening at sunset to Rachel's grave." Of course. The press would be watching like a hawk, since it was the anniversary of a somewhat famous ADA's death. No doubt they were hoping to see me, the elusive disappeared (again) playboy.

I scoffed mentally, as I put the glass down on the tray and nibbled at the toast. Potato bread, no more wheat bread. I think I can let my diet give a little. "I was actually thinking of actually getting drunk tonight…maybe play a drinking game or something with the TV." I'm only half serious. I push back the covers and reach for my robe. "I've got to take a shower; I'll think about the offer. Did she say when she wanted to know?"

"She just said to show up if you wanted to. No pomp and circumstance. Casual clothing preferred. No attention." Alfred picked up the tray and looked at me with a semi-satisfied look. "You need a haircut too. Shall I schedule an appointment? It's about time you took to taking care of yourself a bit more than a few times a month."

I wince guiltily. I was used to showering every day, but wallowing in guilt comes at a price. Alfred saying that it's about time is his nice way of saying that I need to wake the fuck up. "No. I'll figure something out." I slide my feet into my slippers and nod at Alfred. I'd give him a hug, but I doubt he wants one from me in this state. Not to mention that I don't know if I've hugged him since I came back from Tibet. He just looks depressed. "I'll come downstairs when I'm through."

"Good. This room could use a good airing out." He says with a half-smile as I grab the rest of the slice of toast from the plate. Good ol' Aflred. Nothing ever seems to phase him, although I wouldn't put it past him to be more emotional when no one else is around. "Will you want more for breakfast or not?"

"I'll be down in an hour or so Alfred. I don't want breakfast, but maybe a Panini? " I can feel the begging expression of my childhood sliding onto my face, even though I feel like shit still. Getting up with half a purpose, seems to have helped, even though the weight of my guilt is as if the weight of all the skyscrapers in Gotham was on my chest.

"Of course Master Wayne, like you always like them." He leaves, somber and proper like usual, but he seems less burdened. Maybe I should get up and around, even if just to help Alfred. Hmmm, there's an idea.

I strip off my clothes and wash my face while the shower heats up before stepping under the jets. I roll my shoulders happily as I can feel the grime and some of the frustration being worked out by the soothing warmth. Showers, something I discovered after my parents died, were relaxing and amazing. My hair, I discover, is long enough to braid; I don't possess that particular skill, but I hack it short with a pair of scissors before I start washing it. I don't know how women can stand having to wash all the hair they've got to deal with. The soap feels good on my scalp and I massage my scalp slowly, circling around and lingering on the spots that feel best. It's been half an hour already when I finally shut the water off. I wasn't that dirty, but the water felt good and it cleared my head. I found myself thinking about Rachel and about Batman, but my parents were on my mind, and I smiled at the memories of my dad trying to convince me that the shower wasn't a monstrosity. I make a note to go for a quick walk down to the graveyard here on the property, their real tombstones, not the fake public ones, to talk to them, let them know I was still alive (since the three of us weren't having tea and crumpets together today and all) and that I found showers are not monstrosities. My hair is still way too long as I look in the mirror, a towel wrapped around my waist as I shave, carefully, through the mess all over my face. Damn I let myself get a little too wrapped up in my mind didn't I? I owe Alfred an apology. As I finish shaving, the electric razor looks at me impishly from its charging station where I set it when the worst was over, and I look at my hair. Who says I have to always look like the prince of Gotham? I start chopping my hair shorter than take over with the electric razor to give myself a close cropped hair cut. I don't think my hair was ever this short except as an infant, but maybe not even then.

It's been an hour when I find myself dressed and taking the back stairs towards the kitchen, where Alfred is. I can smell the food as I approach and I find that Alfred has made himself a bowl of clam chowder, albeit canned Progresso for himself along with my sandwich. "Progresso Alfred? That's new." I say, as way of greeting, causing him to turn around after tossing the can into the recycle bin and closing that cupboard's door.

"Master Wayne! I hardly recognize you!" Alfred comes over and gives me a closer look. "I suppose that's a good thing, considering the way you were looking. I'll go clean up the mess you made cutting your hair after I eat lunch."

"No need Alfred," I smile, grabbing a bottle of root beer out of the fridge as he turned back to taking my Panini off the stove. "I already cleaned it up. Put the trash bag in the bin on my way down and my clothes are in the hamper already here. I'll strip my bed after I eat."

He stops, midway through pouring his soup into a bowl. "Beg pardon Master Wayne?"  
"Could you please call me Bruce Alfred? You're practically family. I understand the protocol and all that, but I don't want things to be like that." I pop the top off of my root beer and take a happy sip, before biting into the deliciousness of my sandwich. "In fact, I want to learn to do some of the chores around here. Maybe learn to cook a bit and such. You didn't go on your usual holiday this past year, and I feel guilty."

"Well Master Wayne…"he pauses, as he puts the pan in the sink and sighs. "...Bruce…we can start with the clean-up from lunch."

I nod through a mouthful of food, my yes sounding like alien languages from _Dr. Who_ or something. "I'm going to go tonight. Do we have anything normal –ish?"  
"Master Wayne, we have a Lamborghini to replace the one you crashed, we have a Ferrari California, we have a Ferrari Italia, we have a Koenigsegg, the Rolls, an Aston Martin DB9, your Ducati and a Mercedes. No, I don't think we happen to have a Honda or a Toyota. I was going to go pick up a few items in town for myself since I still don't like doing all my shopping online and visit with Fox for a bit. I may not like that he helped you with Batman, but he's an old friend. We got close when you disappeared." Alfred smiled a bit. "And I have Progresso because I haven't been cooking too much because you hardly eat. Your clothes hang on you."

"I'll build up an appetite helping out around here. Maybe we should have stayed in town?"

"And let the press pester you twenty-four seven?" He raises an eyebrow at the thought. "I'm sure they would have loved seeing you looking like Pocahontas this morning. Can you paint with all the colors of the wind yet Master Wayne?"  
"Since when did you make Disney references Alfred? And I'm Bruce." I insist, between bites of scarfing my Panini down. I do need to eat better. I also don't want to remember the circumstances under which I learned about all these Disney movies.

"I watched the Daniels' little girl while they went on a cruise to help their marriage. Poor child was heartbroken when they came back with a shotgun divorce. She left with her mother for New York. Apparently the former Mrs. Daniels' brother works as a lawyer for some big name there. " Alfred chattered happily. "She loved watching Disney. I kept her away from the East Wing by telling her that you were sick. She drew this for you." He pulls a folded piece of paper with a child's scrawling saying "get better soon Mr. Bruce" in a mixture of cases on it in multiple colors of crayon, with a rudimentary drawing of the manor on it in the center.

"So you saved it for me when I wouldn't just shred it or something?" I smile faintly at it, thinking about how, if Rachel hadn't died, it could have come from one of our children. I sigh. I'm the last of the Waynes now.

"Something like that," Alfred blows on a mouthful of chowder before swallowing it. "Progresso isn't my secret recipe, but it's decent and I'm hungry." With that, we lapse into a semi-awkward silence. I finish first, and I start to just leave my dish on the counter, along with the empty glass bottle but then stop. I rinse out the bottle and start open cabinets quietly, behind Alfred's back, looking for the glass recycle. "It's in the same place as the other recycle. Behind it. Pull the drawer out further." Alfred says with a smile in his voice. "I'm not letting you start with the dishwasher, because I'm sure you know at least some of this from travelling, so let's get you started. Grab an apron. I think we can wash some of the dusty pans too to give you some experience."

_Later the Same day_

I flop down on the couch in the library and set the bow down on the table, looking at the archery target I'd put up with a sigh. I had a ways to go to get any better. I grab my laptop from where it sat on the table and opened it up. Skype popped up with something about an update, as did almost everything else. I hit okay and then bought the OS upgrade and just lay there thinking. I'd gone down to Rachel's grave and had managed to avoid the press by hiding in my old ratty Princeton sweatshirt. Come to think of it, maybe I could go back to school online. I set the thought aside and go back to the hug I had found myself being given by Rachel's mom, before she'd told me that Rachel would want me to move on.

"Sorry Rachel, but I can't. You were the one and only for me, just like Mom was for Dad." I mutter, grabbing a random book from behind me. _A Tale of Two Cities_ by Dickens—I remember reading it at some point in the past, so I start reading, finding myself embroiled in the tale. The update are done and my computer has loaded long ago , Skype sitting there open, waiting for me for some reason by the time I read the final words: "It is a far, far better thing I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known." I wonder if someday, I'll be able to say that about myself, but then I remember that I can't. I failed. Harvey succeeded. Natasha, the prima donna of the Russian ballet was right. Gotham didn't need Batman. I was unneeded, ignored and abandoned.

Rachel's name is at the top of my Skype, and I can't bring myself to delete her contact. I know her mom went through and figured out how to close up all her accounts, but I just…I want to be able to see her face there as a little icon as if I could call her and talk to her like a séance. Even though I don't believe it that kind of shit. I open Facebook, the private one under a fake name that I gave to all my dates and close friends—Rachel was there on my friends list as dead, her wall a memento full of posts by people who "missed" her. I only hesitate a moment before posting for myself, even under the assumed name of Evan Branson: "Rachel- I miss you dearly. You were right about everything; so tell me I told you so from the grave if you must. With love."  
Almost as soon as I hit post, a message pops up and some girl I must've known at Princeton had sent me a message.

Leah Warner: Evan. You've been absent for quite some time. You knew the Gotham ADA?

Evan Branson: I'm from Gotham. I'm really sorry Beth, but I don't really remember you.

Leah Warner: It's fine. We were lab partners at Princeton for one class. It's been what? Seventeen years? I only was curious because you were a name I hadn't seen in a while.

Evan Branson: Oh right…right…Tomkins' class? You taught me that street fighting technique in exchange for chemistry lessons.

Leah Warner: I can still recite the entire periodic table by memory thanks to you. You still train?

Evan Branson: Up until last year. I hurt my knee.

I pause. It's not a lie, but it's not the whole truth. I remember Leah faintly. I hope she doesn't ask about the gun I borrowed from her.

Leah Warner: Bummer. Well, I'm a history teacher, of all things. I ended up changing my major from business to history after what you said about assassinations and how sometimes, they weren't as blatant as Lincoln's or the Kennedys'.

Evan Branson: Really? That's actually kind of cool. I still ended up in business, after eight years or so. I never got my MBA though. I'm thinking of going back to school online.

Leah Warner: It was fun for a while. I'm the "cool" teacher at school, but pay is getting cut and benefits are being lessened and well, I'm thinking of going back to school myself.

Evan Branson: Maybe we could do it together? Online, but take the same classes and be study partners? I'm a bit of a loner and self-imposed housebound. I'm learning to cook finally though. I burnt a meatloaf tonight.

Leah Warner: *laughes* It'd depend on finances, but that'd be fun. I'm surprised you haven't asked, unless you're currently stalking my page to snoop on my life since we parted ways already.

I'm busted. I hurriedly click back to my news page from the pictures of her and some of her former students at a mini reunion.

Evan Branson: Damn. You're good. I'm gonna be crass again, but if going back to school is what you want to do, I'll cover it. No strings attached except you have to pass all of your classes.

Leah Warner: I can't. I just can't. I have no guarantee I'd be able to pay you back Evan.

Evan Branson: I've got some money.

Leah Warner: I've done my own research. Branson isn't a name associated with money in Gotham. At least not on the up and up.

Evan Branson: You mean you seriously….this is awesome.

Leah Warner: ? This is AWESOME? Are you freaking serious?

Evan Branson: I'm used to people knowing who I am and trying to take advantage of that Leah. I'm not in the mob. I've only gotten a few speeding tickets and one or two parking tickets. I've never killed anyone.

Leah Warner: Then what was the gun for, because you sure as hell looked hellbent on murder when you took it. Testing it with metal detectors at places where you could carry it with that forged carry permit we had.

Evan Branson: We were dating….weren't we, we just….

Leah Warner: We were more like best friends, but yeah, we did once or twice…the gun Evan?

Evan Branson: I was going to kill someone. Rachel found out and stopped me, and the gun got thrown into the lake. Satisfied? Also…I feel like an ass.

Leah Warner: Yeah. And Evan? It's been a long time. You aren't an ass. I've just got a freakish memory. And if you want to just be Evan Branson, I trust you to not be some sociopath psycho who likes cutting up women and all that.

Evan Branson: It's my turn to laugh. I'm no psycho. I got my head forced on straight finally.

Leah Warner: I love being the idiot who doesn't fawn over you and figure out who Evan Branson really is. Anyways, I've got papers to grade. Tomorrow, same time? It'll be a weekend so we can talk longer?

Evan Branson: Sure. You love being the idiot?

Leah Warner: Yeah, in a weird way I do. Maybe this way I'll get to meet the real you again.

Evan Branson: Well let's be idiots together and start all over. Hi, I'm Evan Branson. I think we went to Princeton together.

Leah Warner: Hey Evan. I'm Leah Warner. I think we did too. I'm here to be your friend Evan; being a loner doesn't work. Trust me I was the loner for umpteen years when I was younger. It's shitty.

Evan Branson: Agreed to that. So, you have any movie recommendations for me to try? I need to get more involved with the real world.

Alfred can't disapprove—even if it's just on the internet, I can still count this as an attempt at something normalish, right?


	2. Chapter 2-UPDATED

Leah's POV

I look at the chat log from the conversation with Evan Branson on my phone, since the school blocks Facebook as I wait for my school laptop to load, sipping casually at my mug of tea. I wonder if he was serious about immediately starting on the list I gave him of movies he should watch. I smile faintly as I remember the old days at Princeton, meeting at a small flat that he owned, right on the edge of campus. We had just been good friends. He was consumed by something, something he didn't really want to talk about, that caused him to scream in his sleep. We hadn't really watched movies then, except once or twice, and that had been awkward. I just couldn't imagine Evan watching movies, but that's what he'd asked for a list of.  
"Ms. Warner? Can I talk to you?" One of my favorite students, Elizabeth James stuck her head in the door. "Or are you not ready for people yet?" The smile on her face was tired—she was a senior this year and she was pushing herself way too hard and putting too much pressure on herself. I'd done the same thing, and it hurt me to see her like this, but I didn't have anything I could do.  
"Sure Lizzie." I smiled at the vivacious blonde who'd been so quiet in her corner until I'd started in on a topic she found comfortable. "What's up?"  
"Well, I'd like to say I like the new lipstick shade. You seem positively happy. But anyways, I need another letter of reference, and I need a teacher willing to accompany me to an interview out of state. I already tried Mrs. Stephan…"  
"She's already committed to the convention?" I guess that that's when Lizzie's interview is. "Why a teacher?" I don't mention that I don't do lipstick. It's just a tinted lip-balm I picked up for three bucks at Target.  
"Yes, and because it's a high profile internship. I'd be interning at a major company, that doesn't offer this opportunity to just anyone." She handed me a thick packet. "The CEO wants to have a teacher there to interview so there can be a first-hand testimony, or something like that. Also, someone over twenty-one needs to sign papers with a witness from legal…" Lizzie sighs. She's an orphan, and her foster parents have effectively washed their hands of her since she's eighteen next month. There's no chance that they'll help her out, because they don't give a shit for their foster kids, except the money that they bring in.  
I flip through the pages and then see it. Wayne Enterprises. Gotham. I could go, and arrange to meet Evan, if he wanted to. "It's expensive." I note, remembering my financial worries, especially since I want to afford to go back to school so I can get a better job.  
"I have a ticket that I paid for discreetly using a rotary scholarship I already won. I could barely afford that." She looks apologetic. "I know about all the pay cuts, and you were planning on trying to go back to school…" Lizzie was my confidant; I may have mouthed off about how being a loner was no fun, but I was the oddball.  
"You know, its fine. I'll go. I actually just made contact again with a friend who lives somewhere in or near Gotham. I'll see if I can meet them while I'm there." The warning bell rang and I cursed, causing Lizzie to laugh.  
"There's also the matter of a place to stay...they apologize but they can't put up all the applicants." She sighed, slinging her satchel back over her shoulder. "Sorry."  
"Don't be. I'll see what I can do," I promise, handing her a hall pass that I'd scrawled quickly together while we'd been talking. "Now go."  
The kids are streaming in through the door, desperate not to be late. Mondays were like this. I hadn't heard from Evan since Thursday night, and I wanted to talk to him again. I sigh, taking another sip of my tea as I set down the packet for Lizzie's internship, noting that she'd attached a sticky note with her flight info. I'm going to miss having her for a student and an academic tutor.  
I rake a hand through my messy hair and throw it up into a quick ponytail. I seriously need to find a way to take care of my hair better. It's getting too long and annoying. "Alright guys, how was the weekend?" A chorus of varied responses greets me and I wonder what today is going to bring me.

Bruce's POV  
I sat back with a sigh on the couch, ready to relax finally. I grabbed my laptop from where I'd set it and turn it on, logging on to Facebook quickly to see that Leah wasn't online. However, she'd sent me a message.

_Leah Warner: Hey Evan! Hope you're doing okay. I just found out that one of my students has an interview at Wayne Enterprises next month that I'm going to her with. Can you recommend a place to stay that's affordable? I'm seriously stretching my budget to afford the plane ticket, and she can't afford anything more than her plane ticket._

I sit there thinking for a moment, before I get up and hit the intercom button. "Alfred?"  
"Bruce? What is it?" Alfred sounds tired, like he usually is in the evenings. I feel a pang of guilt because of my irrational thoughts in the past that didn't take into account the fact that Alfred was getting older.  
"Do I still own a hotel?" The plan is half-assed and I wonder what's going to come of this, wondering if this slight bit of recklessness is a sign of something that I should either ignore, repress, or just let it simmer until it became a fully-fledged plan that, just maybe, came to fruition somehow.  
"Beg pardon Master Wayne?" He reverted to his old habits and I don't complain. It's Alfred's thing, I should quit trying to mess with it and let him hold his position in the way it's been all these years.  
"The hotel? Do I still own it?" I ask, feeling excited.  
"I believe you do, although I'd check with Fox first." I can hear a tea kettle starting to whistle in the background. "Do you want me to call him?"  
"Alfred, I'm trying to learn to be a normal person. I'll call him and make sure. I don't remember signing anything to sell it though." I hesitate. "The college friend I mentioned needs a place to stay."  
"Well, I look forward to meeting her." Alfred announces, deciding for me whether or not I'm going to go and meet her before the subject is even broached. "Now, I'm going to have a quick cuppa tea and go to bed if you don't need anything else?"  
I look at the clock. Ten pm. "No, I'm good. Get some rest Alfred." I go and sit back down on the couch and pick up my laptop again. I hesitate for a moment, wondering if I'll ever introduce Alfred to Leah.

_Evan Branson: I think I can help. I have some connections at a hotel. I think I can get you a place to see for free. Don't even think about repaying me Leah. How long will you be here and do you need separate space for your student? Also, do you want me to meet you at the airport or get someone to meet you?_

I specifically don't mention Wayne Enterprises. I open a new tab in Chrome and log in to my work email. I don't feel like calling Lucius this late, because I don't want to bother him if he's busy. I haven't really spoken to him since I unveiled my government cell phone project bullshit. I scroll through the emails sitting in the inbox, deleting the out-of-date ones and flagging the ones I should read and perusing quickly the newsletters for the past twelve months to get myself quickly up-to-date, before emailing Lucius. I don't red flag it or write important in caps on the subject line because I think "Bruce Wayne" is probably enough of a red flag in itself. I've been off the grid as much as I can while still staying alive the past year. My name as someone making any moves in the world of reality is going to be enough of a shocker.

_Lucius-_

_Sorry to be absent from the company for so long. As you're well aware, I've had some personal problems. I'm just now getting back to reality. I'll be back in a few months at most at the company. I've quit the extreme sports for now-my knee is killing me._  
_I noticed we had a proposal from a new company that you wanted me to look over. Is that still something I need to look at and research?_  
_Also, can you confirm with management for me that I still have ownership of the hotel I bought a couple years ago? I'd like to put up a friend there when she and a student come to town for the summer intern interviews. They have some financial issues. Sorry to ask you to do this, but I don't want to publicize my presence in Gotham still existing. I'm spending some time on learning life-skills other than extreme sports. Also, I'm sorry I put you in the spot that I put you in before. Forgive me?_

_Bruce Wayne_

**Author's Note**  
**Updated version as of 3/3/2013. I don't own the rights to any of this except for my original characters. Reviews are lovely, but not required. I'm not going to sic the Batman on you if you don't review, just read and hopefully enjoy. **


	3. Chapter 3- UPDATED

AN: If you don't recognize the material, it's mine. If not, it belongs to DC or to Nolan. This is the updated version as of 5 March 2013, and if I miss anything, LET ME KNOW. It'll make my day, so long as you're not an arse about it.

_Leah's POV_

"So you're telling me that you can put my student and I up in a suite at a hotel you happen to know the owner of?"

"_Wayne owes me a few favors" _The voice says over Skype, and I can hear in the background the clacking of keys. It's been a little over a week since I first talked to Evan, and he and I had talked often since then. I just hadn't broached my question about lodging. "_Now don't you dare argue Leah.  
_"We just started talking a bit ago, we knew each other for five months previously, and yet you already can tell me exactly what I'm about to say and whether or not you'll listen?" I laugh. "I can't stay at Bruce Wayne's hotel. Its way out of my price range and I don't want to get a bunch of flak from the district when they find out. Also, I won't belong there. I'm a simple girl Evan Branson."

"_It's the safest place in Gotham Leah. They may be appearing to clean up the streets, but everything's still a mess." _Evan's voice is sad, like something about the GCPD's impressive work since the Dent Act passed six months ago bothers him deeply. I shove the thought aside and listen to what he's saying. "_I could see about getting you an apartment to stay in in one of the high rises and I could retain it for your student if she gets the internship. Wayne owes me the favor. I may even be able to put you in the penthouse he owns, if that works better for you, although I couldn't retain that for your student. And Leah? You'll need to learn to belong if you try to get that MBA and fit in in most of the business clicques."_

"You're being a smarmy rich bastard right now Evan." I point out bluntly. "I'm fine with Holiday Inn, a Best Western, a Motel 6, but not the crème de la crème."

"_You've never been to Gotham Leah. I've lived here a long time. I've lost almost everything to Gotham." _I can hear the tears in his voice, I swear, even though the Evan I remember was _never_ emotional, except when he didn't think anyone was awake. _"So when you come here next month, trust me. You're staying either at or near Wayne's penthouse, or at Wayne's hotel. Wayne is a freak about security, and I wouldn't want to be responsible for anything happening to you."  
_"Listen Evan, Lizzie, my student, is coming over in a few to plan the trip with me and to go over papers. We're meeting at a coffee shop a few minutes away actually, so I have to get going." I hope inside that backing out of this means that I can try to win.

_"I'll be on later, if you want to talk more than. I'm not letting this drop. I may not remember you very well, but I'd hate for something to happen to you. Too many people I care about…" _He trails off. _"Never mind. Why don't we leave the decision up to your student, Lizzie, right?"_

"Well…I suppose that would only be fair since this is all about her. So the options are a _suite_ at the hotel owned by Bruce freaking Wayne or to stay in Bruce freaking Wayne's penthouse or somewhere near it?"  
_"The hotel suite or the penthouse. I know that Wayne's just got it on mothballs, the penthouse that is. The hotel suite would be more discreet though."_ He seems like he's annoyed about something. _"And what's the big deal about Bruce Wayne? Didn't he go to Princeton?"  
_"Yeah. I didn't have any classes with him as far as I knew. He apparently hid from the spotlight and a professor I asked about it said that those who had him for classes were told not to call his name on the roll or let it be on any documents that they published concerning the class. Then he got kicked out for some really dark paper."

There's a bark of laughter on the other end of the line. _"I heard he didn't keep his grades up and then wrote a paper on assassinations." _Evan seems grim. _"He's an arse and an airhead Leah. Don't freak out over him, please? I can't stand the guy. Besides, no one has seen him since Rachel Dawes' funeral, and even then, he was late and was so drunk he could barely stand._"

"I know he's a playboy, but he is hot, when he appears without a score of skanks and is doing something productive." I snap defensively. "I'm voting for the hotel. I don't want to be seen as his latest floozie. I'll confirm with Lizzie and let you know via Facebook. I gotta go." I cut the connection before he can respond. For some reason Evan hates when Wayne Enterprises comes up and when the Batman comes up. I've asked him a couple times but he never tells me what he thinks about Batman. As I turn to shut my computer off Skype chirps with one late message.

Evan Branson: Sorry to piss you off. Wayne owes me because of a major fight we had. I could go to the press with some shit on him and he'd be screwed. Also, quit fretting about the interview. You and your student will be fine. I'm making reservations for the penthouse at the hotel. Deal with it.

I roll my eyes and shut the lid of my laptop quickly. I mentally imagine the vague blurry memory in my mind sticking his tongue out at me, or even flying the bird at me. Not sure exactly which. Maybe even both if he's being childish, which he is right now. My phone rings and I pick it up, without looking at the caller ID. "Leah Warner."

"Hey Ms. Warner! I'm here early, sorry." Lizzie's voice chirped.

"It's fine. I'm on my way. I was talking to my friend in Gotham and got in a bit of a spat." I grab my keys and purse and run out the door, locking it behind me cautiously. I hated to admit it, but safety would be something I'd be missing when I went to Gotham. A year ago a mad clown was terrorizing the population. I may carry a gun when I travel, or when I go somewhere out of my usual haunts, and I may have my old Krav Maga training (that I really need to brush up on since I haven't been to the gym in oh, six or seven months), but I'm no match for the insanity of Gotham.

"He's the guy helping with the finances right?" She chirps happily. "I want to meet this guy. He's making you seem a lot more happy."  
"Shut up. He's a lab partner from college." I retort. Lizzie is my student I remind myself, but I justify my friendship with her because we both need someone like the other in our lives. I'm either an older sister or a young mother to her, or some sort of awesome relative. I've never asked and in the end, I don't care. I just want to be here for Elizabeth James whenever and wherever she needs it. "We're staying at the penthouse of some hotel owned by Bruce Wayne. My friend is owed a favor and well, he insists we stay there because it's safer than any other place. I'm pissed at him for that."

"Awwwwwww. It'll be our one chance to see how the rich people live. Bruce Wayne. Yikes. Do you think we'll see him?"

"He's a recluse. He was apparently so drunk he was late and couldn't stay standing for the ADA's funeral." I relate to her part of what Evan told me. "Evan told me that, although the press never said anything about it."

"They were probably too busy with that schmoozer Dent." Lizzie says. I can see her as a small figure at the end of the sidewalk, standing outside the café as I barrel down the sidewalk through the light population towards her.

"You don't like Dent? It's thanks to him Gotham is getting cleaned up." In response to my statement, I can see her hang up the phone and start to scurry towards me.

"No. It's thanks to his death that they've given people like Comish Gordon the power to get shit done," Lizzie states bluntly. "Enough about Gotham. We need to plan, and plan and plan! I'm so excited!" She runs the last few feet to meet me, having dropped her backpack at a table already, and hugs me. "I can't get over how much you're helping me with this Ms. Warner."

"Everybody deserves to have at least one dream come true. Now, you told me that there's a series of events you have to go to as part of the selection process? That's kinda weird."

"Well, not everyone has a chance to be exposed to the sorts of things in life that would be part of life as an intern, so the timing is arranged so we can all attend some annual charity event thing and an annual dinner. Both are formal dress, so we need clothes. Maybe we can go in to the city in the morning to shop for dresses before our flight?"

She's referencing the late evening flight that Evan transferred Lizzie's ticket to and got me a ticket on it, claiming that it was the only way he could get me a ticket where I could stay with Lizzie. They're coach tickets, because I put my foot down on first class, telling him I didn't want Lizzie to seem like she has airs and all. "Well….."

"Oh come on! Surely it won't take too long to find something. We can look online until then. I just would love the feeling of going to all the shops and stuff," Lizzie gave me a look that I just couldn't refuse.

"Oh alright. But we're looking online first, and if we find something, snagging it." I don't tell her that we have no chance of affording something nice enough to go to two events in two different dresses and not get sneered at for wearing the effective Goodwill of the upper class. I don't want to ruin her ideas. "And if we still can't find something, I'll get Evan to recommend a good place in Gotham."

Lizzie perks up at the mention of Gotham and I face palm. I mentioned Evan's name finally to her. "Evan? Hmmmm…" She pulls up Google on the Samsung something or other she painstakingly saved up for over two years of babysitting hellions from the church her fosters went to. After a minute she wrinkles her nose. "What's his last name?"  
"Oh no you don't!" I tell her, teasingly. "Now, did you get those papers written?"

She wrinkles her nose even more and frowns. "I'm struggling with the paper for Econ…."

I sigh and roll my eyes. "Econ is a bitch. It's an important bitch however."

_Bruce's POV_

"Yes, that's right. I need the penthouse suite for three weeks starting the nineteenth of next month. Name? Evan Branson." I hold onto the American Express card I'd created using the name of Evan Branson with Alfred's help that thankfully had already arrived. I listened to the stammering clerk on the other end. Apparently someone had already reserved it. "Alright, what about the suites?"

_"Already booked Mr. Branson. Mr. Wayne is very particular about no one jumping people's reservations and since he is the owner…he's the only one who can."_

I snarl silently. Of course my own actions would be getting in the way. "Bastard," I say coldly, meaning it fully. I forgot that Lucius had already issued a discount on rooms at the hotel for those coming for the internship stuff and since there were a lot of people coming….. "Listen, is there anything decent available? I'm prepared to pay up to triple the room price if you can get me something." I say decent in the rich sneer that leaves the smaller cramped rooms off limit. The internship is two weeks of craziness. I checked online and the break is the next week, so I wanted them to have the option of staying an extra week to sight see, and well, I may or may not have name dropped Lizzie to Lucius when he came out to visit yesterday, just without giving a name. She may need to be locating an apartment for the summer, and that's best done in the city, not online. Speaking of Lucius, I can't blame him for the predicament. I'd suggested when he'd whined about my purchase of the hotel that he could do this, and he'd warned me ahead of time of the discount going out in a couple days. Apparently a lot of people had believed the rumors and had jumped on the opportunity quickly.

_"I'm sorry Mr. Branson. We do have some standard rooms available?_"

"That's perfectly not fine. Thanks for your time." I hang up before I have to listen to the usual pleasantries and rapidly open up Facebook on my laptop while picking up the home phone, not my unlisted cell, to dial the front desk at the luxury tower where the penthouse was.

Evan Branson: The hotel is booked up. Wayne gave a smarmy half-apology and then insisted that I have you use the penthouse. He's gonna have me pretend to buy it off of him so that there won't be publicity problems. Apparently Wayne offered some sort of discount shit for the hotel for the internship peeps.

"Hello, and thank you for calling…" Mrs. O'Riley's voice starts and I cut her off in my usual playboy style that grates on my nerves.

"Mrs. Whatever your name is. This is Bruce Wayne. I'd have Alfred deal with this but he's got laryngitis, pisses me off the bastard getting sick when I need him to take care of some things. I've sold my penthouse to a friend by the name of Evan Branson. Do NOT release his name to the media; just let 'em know you don't house Bruce Wayne any longer. I'm sick of all the simpering bullshit anyways." My voice is the practiced rich drawl of the playboy I pretended to be, and when I said that I was sick of the simpering bullshit, I wasn't joking.

"Why yeeesssss ssssir" She stutters startled, sounding a lot like a snake. "Will he be moving in?"  
"He's using it as a guest house. So if people come, DON'T repeat 'DON'T tell the damn press." I snap. "My money manager will forward you the papers. I can't contact him without Alfred and the bloody sicko took some sort of sleeping pill." I hang up and feel bile in my throat. Alfred isn't a bastard, nor is he a damn sicko or anything like that. I just, well, had to make it seem like I was going off my rocker. I log into my work email and click on Lucius' email with the information about the energy deal. I peruse it and wince.

_Lucius:  
I don't think this proposal is going to work at all. _

_Also, I want to make partnerships with some of the companies that are based here in Gotham if I'm going to do something similar to that proposal. I think Wayne Enterprises should look to her own people now or some such BS. Maybe use the whole shit from last year as a marketing strategy to get public approval of the move? Maybe this summer you can have the intern peeps look at the papers for the deal with that new company here in Gotham?_

_Also, do you happen to know the contact info for Ryan, my money manager? Alfred is on vacation and if I call him for something like that he'll come back and I barely managed to get him out the door this morning._

_Bruce Wayne_

The Facebook tab blinks at me "New Message Leah Warner." I log out of my work email after sending the message to Lucius and then look at her message.

Leah Warner: Well. You've backed me into a corner. Lizzie is thrilled. She's dancing circles around me and the table right now. Also, if we aren't in a hotel, maybe I can stay for the week off I have after the stuff. Lizzie too if she wants to.

I smirk and resist the urge to do a miniature victory celebration. The penthouse is definitely much safer and it has a panic room that no one knows about really, except the two idiots from the party, but they were _stone drunk_, I made sure of it when I got changed back into my party attire, as Alfred blandly called it.

Evan Branson: I was hoping that would happen. You're going to be busy with all the Wayne Enterprises events. Listen, I hear there are some formal occasions? Just find something you like and send me the links. Don't argue. I'm not paying a cent to Wayne really, since he's going to bite the bullet and basically give me the penthouse for free. So this is my new second contribution.

I hurriedly starting flipping through Alfred's recipes in the rolodex of food and I yank out any that look like normal food that I could try to have figured out how to cook by the time they get here. I can't hire any staff if I'm going to keep as anonymous as possible.

Leah Warner: Well, we're going to rattle around the place, unless you're coming. Lizzie wants to know if there'll be any staff there?

I bite my lip. I think I can manage this. Alfred is only going to be gone a week, and if I can manage this than I can hope he'll help me get ready for three weeks on my own, except maybe when Leah and her student, Lizzie are out at events.

Evan Branson: No staff. I had a major problem with my last staff, so I'm staff-less and enjoying it right now. I'm going to move there myself and only open a few rooms up; only what's necessary.

Leah Warner: Alright. That makes me relieved, and I'll help out when I can. Lizzie and I each need three to four dresses. The charity ball, the dinner, the fundraiser, and the opera. Well, I'm probably skipping the opera. Don't ask.

Evan Branson: Four dresses each, got it. You'll want a fifth, a spare, just in case, at the very least. If someone else wears one of your choices at a different event or you see someone coming in with yours, you need to not do the whole "dress war" thing.

Leah Warner: Alright. Any recommendations on style since you're such a know-it-all on this apparently?

Evan Branson: For Lizzie, something that stands out from wallflower status but is mute enough to blend into the sidelines. Interns are there for help with identifying people and other interny stuff. So something that isn't too baring and yet fits in with fashion and won't be a "disgrace" if seen in the society columns for some bullshit reason. Also, if someone wears too similar of a style even. Don't go off the "most popular" racks.

Leah Warner: She's happy about that. What about me? I do have a couple tats.

Evan Branson: You're an accompanying teacher. Lizzie is probably going to be given some intern duties to perform, you're there almost as a chaperone. You need to shine or else you'll be ridiculed so much you don't have anything left, not even your bones. The society writers and the socialites are bitches. You have tattoos? Wow, that sounds new.

Leah Warner: Shut up. So I need to be socialite status? Me, the girl who doesn't wear make-up and who works out when she can find the time instead of starving? I'm eating a 1/3lb. burger right now.

Evan Branson: You're making me hungry.

Leah Warner: Then go get your own rich boy. I've gotta go. Lizzie is calming down and wants to plan.

Evan Branson: Alright, Later.

I smile, and hope the advice is going to help, as the little icon by Leah's name goes to the offline indicator. It has been a year after all since I ran the social circle. I wonder if I'll be able to sneak into any of the events with her. Maybe the ball, since I think it's a masked affair, and I never attend those things anyways. I suppress more shudders at the thought of the opera. I know the program for that night. It's the same opera as the night my parents were killed. The pang of sadness is awful, distracting me from why Leah doesn't want to go to the opera. I leave my computer open on the coffee table and head towards the kitchen. I'm going to try the chick-habit of eating ice cream or chocolate or both or whatever when they're pissed off. Drunk and bull-headed isn't something I want to do. It'd ruin it if I actually really did burn the place down.

I smirk with an idea as I sit down and pull out a carton of cookie dough ice cream and put a bottle of chocolate sauce in a pan of water and crank up the burner so I can have hot fudge. After grabbing what's supposed to be a serving spoon for the ice cream, I set the spoon and ice cream down on the table and sprint up the back stairs to my room to grab the stereo for my phone and sprint back down to plug it in on the island where I was planning to park my ass for as long as it took to eat the carton. Comfort food—I've denied myself this act for far too long. I hit play once I find the song and start eating the cookie dough ice cream with a smirk on my face, even with the weight of the sadness in my heart. I was just reminding myself of plan B if this didn't work…burning down the house…with this song. Irony. I don't even usually like Nickelback, this song just made me laugh in remembrance of my favorite headline concerning myself ever. Right now though, it just helped me stew. I angrily poured the hot fudge into the carton and realized I might just need a potholder. Damn.


	4. Chapter 4- UPDATED

**AN: This is updated as of 3/7/2013. Like before, notice anything off still, let me know. I don't own Batman, or etc, just my original characters and my plot bunnies (when they want to behave). **

_LEAH'S POV_

"This won't do." I mutter, looking at myself in the mirror. I love the dress, but the price? It's three thousand dollars, for a dress someone named Carolina Herrera designed. It's designed as an evening dress, but it's more something I could wear just around town when I'm with the tour group or something. Alright. I want the dress, quite a lot. Even if the short sleeves and short, even with the length being even with my knees, I feel like I could do this. I could wear something that's a dress and not my usual jeans or slacks and a shirt of some sort. I look pointedly at the abandoned baseball jersey type shirt on the ground.  
My phone chimes and I look at it.

Evan: Found anything yet?

I roll my eyes. Lizzie was thrilled to be shopping for the stuff for her interview trip. I was getting more and more pissed with Evan Branson who was suddenly bankrolling a lot more of this trip than I wanted him to. It was a major help, but it was too much. Especially the mysterious clause that we couldn't mention to anyone that he was bankrolling the trip. There's only a week left until we leave, and while Lizzie may be having a blast with the little black plastic Evan had mailed me with my name on it, but I just couldn't understand.

Evan: You're ignoring me.

No duh. I look at the modest neckline, with the plunging v to below my navel, covered in a thick black lace with a white backing for modesty's sake. I look at myself in the mirror and twist my hair up behind my head and hold it there for a moment. I up the phone and hit dial instead of reply. Holding it to my ear as I reverently unzip the dress, and let it fall to the ground, waiting for Evan to pick up.  
He picks up right as it starts to go to voice mail, when a voice starts to say "Hello, you've reached..."  
"Leah?"  
"Hey Evan, I've just a question." I fib, listening to his voice on the not horribly scratchy connection for once, trying to see if I can recognize him from any of the GCN interviews and other related broadcasts that Lizzie had made me watch.  
"What is it? I've got to take care of some stuff." He's disgruntled, annoyed, and sounds like he has a bad cold, just like on skype.  
"Well, for one thing, why do you have the same cold you seemed to have four weeks ago when we first started talking?" I asked, searching my head quickly for a more reasonable question.  
"Umm..." He doesn't really respond. "What's the real reason you called?"  
"I'm just uncomfortable with you paying for so much. I found something I like finally, not for any of the actual events except maybe the interview if I can't get away with just some slacks and and a blouse."  
He laughes, a clear laugh and it doesn't have a trace of a cold to it; "Add some sort of business jacket thing to it and you should be fine. Get the dress. You know how long it took for you to find something just as well as I do. Buy the damn dress Leah. I'll take you out to eat somewhere if you can't find a different place to wear the dress."  
"Jeez; so what is supposed to happen now? You're going to continue taking advantage of my hatred of dresses to get me to spend more money on your card on dresses?" I sigh. "This makes no sense."  
"I know. That's the beauty of it Leah Warner." He hung up, and I look at the black card poking out of the back pocket of my jeans from where they sat on a small bench.  
I look at it and grin. "Lizzie?"  
"Yeah Ms. Warner?" She pokes her head over the partition as I finish dressing as quickly as I can. "What's up?"  
"What if we get entirely new everything for this trip? My friend didn't give me a credit limit and he pisses me the hell off right now."  
"Bitch rage?" Lizzie says, raising an eyebrow. "Because I did see some pretty nice Louis Vuitton luggage when we walked past there, and then there was the Tiffany's necklace and..." I tune her out as I lovingly put the dress back on its hanger and grab the credit card, wielding it like it's a weapon.  
"Here's the deal. We aren't taking a scrap of clothing we've ever won before. I'm sick of the lies."

Leah shoved a new dress at me. "Try this. It's cheaper, and it's the same length and..."

I grabbed the dress and started to change into it. "You try that dress you liked earlier on too that I said was way too expensive. Bitch rage means there is no limit unless we suddenly use up all of Evan's money."

_*Bruce's POV*_

I looked at the credit card bill on the screen of the tablet I had balanced so that I could check things as I prepped the lasagna for the fifth time today. It was eleven at night and I was still trying to cook diner. Alfred had already broken down and reheated some of the stew that I'd somehow managed to be successful with from last night. But I wanted lasagna and dammit, I was NOT going to give up and call for it from one of the restaurants in town. Nor was I going to bother Alfred. I have an issue with pride.  
"SHIT!" I yelled at the top of my lungs, hoping that I didn't just wake up Alfred. Things do echo in this place, unfortunately. I probably asked for this and I really don't want to know what would happen if she found out I've been lying to her this whole time. I throw the lasagna into the oven and grab my phone and angrily dial her number. She's probably high on how happy she is with having done this. I wait impatiently for her to pick up. I have a vague memory of her doing this to me once before, only she bought half a used bookstore practically. I scroll through the bill and notice that she didn't buy any books. She just bought a bunch of designer shit. Yep, this is what I told her to do.  
She doesn't pick up. Of course. I try calling her over and over until the lasagna is done. Of course, I burn it again. So as I munch on a piece of burnt toast and drink a glass of milk, I open Facebook and send her a message quickly.

Evan Branson: I think that you've done that to me before. And don't even try to tell me it's female stuff. You have a temper Leah Warner. Tell you what, I'll let this go, but I'm cancelling the card, and recommending an anger management therapists. Did you need to trash that store and make me pay for the damages?


	5. Chapter 5-UPDATED

**AN: Nope, I don't own this and I definitely don't have the money to own this. I only own my original characters.  
This is edited as of 03/09/2013. Any errors you find, please correct. I do use a bit of German at the end. In order shit/shithead. If I'm wrong and you can correct me, feel free to, just been respectful and polite. **

_BRUCE'S POV_

"Good morning," a cheery voice greets me, waking me up from where I fell asleep on the couch, watching a movie on some random channel I don't remember that had something to do with a pilot in a prison camp who wanted to escape and managed to escape and his friend got beheaded and they only had one half a shoe, and the CIA got involved. I think I made it to the credits before I fell asleep. I remember something about smuggling the guy out through a cake or something like that.  
"Alfred...what time is it?" I groan, turning over to face the cushions on the couch, clutching onto the throw pillow my head had slid onto when I'd fallen asleep.  
"Time to get up and get to work. Let's see if we can get you cooking some more talented things than toast."  
"I can't even manage a toaster Alfred. It's pathetic." I shift to lay on my back and stare up at the ornate scenery. "I can manage basic cleaning tasks, and that's it. Barely even."  
"It just takes some practice Master Wayne. You've only been trying for a few weeks." Alfred says trying to soothe me before I fly off into a temper and start kicking things or something. "Why don't we start with making you some breakfast? It's only nine thirty in the morning. It won't ruin your lunch. How about some crepes? That's simple and doesn't take much work."  
"Crepes? Aren't those fancy french pancakes? I'll ruin that!" I sit up, realizing that I am hungry and maybe if I try and fail Alfred'll cook me up something. I'm still a spoiled rich brat. I just want to go back to relaxing and doing whatever I want to do, not having to dust my room, try to make my bed (and have Alfred redo it on me) and then waste all this food trying to learn to cook.  
"They're simply a mix of flour, milk, and egg, cooked up on a hot pan and then you can put whatever you want on them. There's some fresh strawberries that we can cut up first, and you can put some jam on them or whatever you want." Alfred handed me a glass of orange juice. "I'll talk you through it. I already squeezed the orange juice."  
"Using a machine," I whine, stretching as I got up. Maybe I ought to start doing push-ups again in the mornings. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Yeah. A year of not doing anything can be hell on the appearance.  
"Yes, but I've done a lot of other things since I got up at seven. You however, need to learn to do these things." Alfred started towards the kitchen and I prepared to deal with it, probably with a lot of whining. "You've a little under two weeks until Ms. Warner arrives along with her student. I trust you want to make a good impression?"  
I start listing every swear word I know that can apply to this situation in every language I know other than English, because other than that it would just be boring. He just had to have a trump card that was untrumpable. Wait, is that even a word? Oh God, I'm starting to sound like one of those airheads like I pretended to be for all that time when I was still Batman.  
Alfred turns at the pause in the stream of foreign, angry-sounding words and I watch the grin spread across his face. Probably at the look of shock and horror on my face. "Come now Master Wayne," he smiles. "Let's get you cooking. I think the house can get dusty today. We'll focus on getting you not to burn food."  
I followed him into the kitchen and reluctantly put on the blue- striped apron that he handed me. I recognized it vaguely, a memory of someone cooking sugar cookies floating into my head. I put my hands on the island and close my eyes, letting the memory envelop me. Both my parents were in the kitchen, wearing aprons, cooking, flour in their hair, on their clothes, making sugar cookies. I was looking at them as if I had just come in, and I could hear Christmas music playing-some sort of rendition of Ukranian Bell Carol. I feel tears starting to roll down my face in the reality of life without them, for so many years, and I open my eyes and feel Alfred putting a hand on my shoulder.  
"I should have thought more carefully Bruce, I'm sorry if this is hard on you." Alfred murmured. "Do you want to talk about it?" If I wanted to talk about it, I would have done it one of the other times that memories assail me.  
"I want to learn to cook some meals, than I want to make sugar cookies. Using the recipe they did." I take a few deep shaky breaths. In through the nose for three seconds, breathe out through the mouth for three seconds, and keep repeating until I'm calm. I can't resist sniffing the apron gently to see if it smells anything like the vague, almost faded memories of my parents. It doesn't. It smells like starch.  
"Alright then, if that's what you think best," Alfred stated calmly, a look of worry faint in his eyes. "Now, the strawberries are in the fridge; why don't you get them out and I'll get a bowl, the cutting board and a knife for you." It's not a question, it's an order, but stated in a calm friendly tone that makes you not want to argue. I don't, only move to take the strawberries out and take the knife and start slicing them up, slowly so I don't cut myself.  
"I'm scared she's going to hate me for the deception Alfred," I start talking, knowing he was listening. "I just..."  
"You want her to know you for someone other than your public persona. Although, how are you handling the Bruce Wayne involvement, if I might inquire Master Wayne?"  
I start to speed up my pace with the slicing. "I've been trash talking myself, which is why I really wish I hadn't agreed to meet her. This would be easier if she was just someone from college that I met up with again online and never saw in person..." The words were just pouring out, and I couldn't help it. "Alfred what am I gonna do?"  
"You said she was in one of your college classes?"  
"She was my lab partner. There were a hundred of us or so in the class. We signed in on a computer. She never saw what I signed in as. I just introduced myself as a random name I thought of off the top of my head. Evan Branson. She and I didn't have any common aquaintances and I was careful we went different places." I sighed. "It's the most genuine air-headed thing I've ever done Alfred. We never were dating, but we did get drunk a couple times." I could hear the sigh Alfred let out as I quickly finished up the strawberry slicing and moved to grab a bowl. "And then I took a gun she owned right after I got kicked out for my grades in everything except the chem lab, because she made me focus in that class, and I came back here for the hearing."  
Alfred sighed again. "You took a gun to the hearing. I know. Rachel told me."  
"When?" I froze, stopping myself from picking up the flour bin. "When I was gone?"  
"When you went missing," Alfred had a sad look in his eyes. "She didn't tell the police though."  
"Why not?" I was confused. Rachel always would tell about things like that. She didn't want people to get away with doing things that were wrong. It's why she became a prosecutor and it's why she had been on the fast track. Supposedly. It could have been that, because I was gone and then became Batman immediately upon my return, she dated her bosses. She wasn't a slut though, she was Rachel. My oldest friend, the only woman I've ever loved and the woman who was my only chance at a happy future. I may be making an effort to have a friend in Leah Warner, but I'm never truly going to be happy. Not with Rachel gone.  
"She never told me." Alfred seems almost as if he's lying, but I don't push him. "Now, one cup flour-use this," he hands me a glass container with markings labelled "Pyrex" and waits while I measure to the giant one line, and dump it into a glass bowl. "Now, one cup of milk. Use the same measuring utensil." He waits again, and then, picking up a book I'd noticed he'd borrowed from the library last night, starts to read. "You'll need one egg. I do believe I already taught you how to crack an egg?"  
"Yes Alfred..." I mutter, like an annoyed child who was reprimanded. "What do I use to mix it?"  
"A fork will work." Alfred put the book down for a moment long enough to put his reading glasses on and then started reading again. "You'll need the frying pans that don't have any sides and are fully metal with no protection on the handle."  
I look through the carefully organized pans and wonder why he couldn't just have told me their exact location. "These?" I hold up two pans that appear to match the description.  
"Yes. Now put a bit of oil on them, heat them up, and pour a small amount of batter onto each, pick it up, roll the batter around, wait about a minute and flip. Put the setting on five for the burners." Alfred turned a page-I could hear it and I wondered if I should try reading some more because the sound of pages turning is just peaceful sometimes. Although, I'm more action oriented. I follow his instructions and two minutes later dump the first two on a plate. "What now?"  
Alfred puts the book down and gets up to go look at them. "Try forty-five seconds for the next batch, and that should be perfect. Make sure the pans don't get any hotter though."  
"How do I do that?" I'm confused; very, very, very seriously confused.  
"Put your hand over the pan," Alfred waits while I reluctantly do so. "Close enough to feel the heat." I move my hand closer. "Now, Master Wayne, you need to make sure it doesn't get any hotter than that, either by feeling it or just turning it down slowly in increments until you're out of batter and the burners are turned off."  
I did as he said, guessing and ending up getting a couple burnt, but miraculously handling this. "I can do this!" I crowed triumphantly as I blackened the last set of crepes, promptly tossing them into the sink and making sure the burners were off before setting them on the table. Alfred had set the table before he'd resumed his books by putting the brown sugar container, the jam and the strawberries all at the small table and had grabbed two forks and two plates. Well-I can't imagine Alfred ever really grabbing things, but the fact of the matter still stands. I grab a couple of the crepes and put strawberries and brown sugar on them before realizing I don't know how to make it look like they do in the restaurant. "Umm..Alfred?"  
"Master Wayne..the crepes at restaurants are usually much larger and folded into quarters. These, you roll up." He grabs one and smears jam on it and delicately adds some strawberries before taking one end and rolling it up. The first thing that pops into my mind is that it's like rolling a joint, something I've seen so many times when I was Batman, observing the actions of the drug dealers' lackeys and those they sold to.  
"So I'm pretending to roll a joint Alfred?"  
If Alfred were to facepalm, I'm sure that he would do it right now. The expression on his face is patient and like a mask, and I give a sheepish grin. "Master Wayne...you may have not been Batman for over a year now, but you still need to work on normality. May I recommend not making references like that around Ms. Warner?"  
"I'll take that into account Alfred," I laugh, rolling up the crepe and taking a bite, using my fork to cut it.  
"Well done," Alfred seems to savor a bite of the crepes. "It's not my standard fare, but this is good."  
I scoff, a barking laugh emerging through a simply scrumptious mouthful. I somehow managed to cook something and make it taste good. The feeing is rather nice, like the feeling I got when I helped people and saw the appreciative looks on their faces as I escaped before too many, or even any questions could be asked. "Well done indeed," I gesture with my fork towards the burnt crepes in the sink.  
"It's not like you burnt five lasagnas in a row like last night. I'd call that improvement." Alfred handed me the paper and returned to his book, knowing that I'd start reading the paper, cover to cover. I never used to read it cover to cover, only skim, but since I emerged from cryo-sleep to leave my bedroom, I had realized reading the paper in its entirety could be very amusing. My favorite headline is still  
My phone chirped as I finished up the dishes twenty minutes later.

Leah Warner: Sorry. I'm going to give you way too much detail and tell you that pissing me off by showing off wealth and connections when I'm bleeding uncontrollably in certain places with demonic cramps is never a good idea. I can return things if you want me to.

I wince and feel a bit awkward. I think for a moment about the list of designer stores I saw on the bill and shake my head. How she managed to spend five hundred thousand dollars in so short of a time rather impressed me.

Evan Branson: Nah. Keep the stuff. Just please. I don't have any sisters or anything and my dating life is nonexistant. Don't ever bring *that* up again.

Leah Warner: Awww...is macho Evan squirming?

I ignore it and head upstairs to take a shower, setting my phone on the counter where I can reach it if someone calls. Alfred or Lucius would only call if it was an emergency, and Leah is, I think, if I'm reading the clock right, off her lunch break.  
Of course, as soon as I've got my hair all shampooed, my phone starts ringing and I stop the shower, wrapping a towel around my lower half, hoping I don't ruin my phone, wrapping a smaller towel around my head, knowing I'll get shampoo all over it. "Hello?"  
"Hey Evan. I just...thanks for everything." Leah spoke rapidly. "I've just got a question. Gotham came up in class, and well, my students are wondering if my Gothamite friend has an opinion or any experience concerning Batman."  
"Am I on speaker?" I worry, knowing that someone in that class probably has every picture of me that's ever appeared in the newspapers and tabloids on their wall.  
"No, why so worried?"  
"Don't use that way of asking questions. Please." I take a panicky breath. "I don't have any specific experience with Batman, except the fundraiser I went to at Wayne's when the Joker showed up, and the Joker always asked 'why so serious?' and it freaked me out," I half lie, hoping she can't tell, remembering a quote that said something about one lie causing twenty one others.  
"Alright." Leah seemed convinced, or at least I hope she is. "Do you have an opinion about the Batman?"  
"I don't. I really have tried to stay out of that debate. In a way he was helping, but then there were all those imposters, which was a disaster for all involved-take that guy the Joker murdered, and well, there's Harvey Dent." I spit the part about Dent out and am cautious. "Look, I'd love to contribute more Leah, but I'm kinda taking a shower."  
"And you answered the phone?" Her voice changes pitch slightly and I get curious. "Alright, I'll talk to you later. Maybe we can talk more about the whole Batman thing? I'd love to hear more of your thoughts on the matter."  
"Later Leah," I agree, and hang up the phone. Schiesse. I'm a schiessekopf actually and I really need to find a way to make what I tell Leah truthful, because I'm already getting sick of lying to her. She's so trusting. For now, I've got soap in my damn eyes now. Great.


	6. Chapter 6-UPDATED

**Chapter 6-UPDATED**

_Leah's POV_

I gave an exasperated sigh as I typed the kiss-ass type response to the principal's rejection of my idea to just hand the sub my Blu-Ray edition of _Band of Brothers_ and some half-assed worksheets for the two weeks I'd be gone. I already knew that the ass wasn't supportive of Lizzie's needing to pull a teacher away from the school and have him fill out all this paperwork, but hey, that comes with a temporary security clearance and all the stuff coming with this rather extremely weird internship competition gig with Wayne Enterprises.

I plug in the flash-drive containing all my power-points for the lessons and try to think of how much I could expect a sub to be able to force the students to listen to. Of course, "teach to the test" was in effect, so I had a certain pace I was expected to keep up with. I found it utter bullshit and it was another reason why I should probably put in the towel and go back to school online until I could secure a job and then just, out of the blue, retire from teaching. Well, I'd have to give in notice...

I float off into the daydream and I find myself not writing the lessons plans that I was supposed to be writing on my Saturday instead of going out on a run on the first non-rainy day all week. And tomorrow I had to go visit my parents at the home they were at for my monthly day long visit. Yeah, I'm such a great child, only visiting them once a month when they gave up everything to put me through Princeton. The home is a four hour drive away, near where my younger sister Emma lives with her rich-ass hubby. She majored in drinking and gold-digging, and she was still my parents' favorite. I went on the one day in the weekend where Emma wouldn't be there. See, my parents have their favorite and I'll be there when she isn't.

Skype chirps me out of my reverie and I note that it's Lizzie.

Lizzie: Hey teach! What's up?

Leah Warner: Trying to write lesson plans. Ix nay on the _Band of Brothers_.

Lizzie: Awwww that sucks. Can we watch an episode or two with you in class at some point?

Leah Warner: I don't know. He wants to cut down on viewing and everything has to be approved and all that fun paperwork filled hell.

Lizzie: Alright. Anyways, can I talk to you about some personal stuff?

Leah Warner: Sure. You want to voice chat?

Lizzie: I can't. I'm not even supposed to be online. The fosters are worrying me a lot right now.

Leah Warner: What is it this time? Is there anything I can do? There are things I can do for you as your teacher and all.

Lizzie: I know I've said that they've effectively washed their hands of me, but they've been pulling me to the kitchen table to talk to me for a while now and again. It's been getting more frequent. It's about the process for when I turn eighteen. They want me out the door. I have all this shit I have to take care of. I actually already started submitting the papers. I don't want to delay getting out. I've also been knocking on doors of businesses trying to get a job. No one wants to hire someone who may be gone in a few months.

Leah Warner: Listen, I have a spare room...

Lizzie: You're also my teacher. Wouldn't that be against some of those regulations they love so much?

Leah Warner: I'm thinking of going back to school.

Lizzie: Go teach!

Leah Warner: Maybe. I can't really afford it, what with the budget I'm on. It's a long story why I'm so tight on money.

Lizzie: I'm guessing it has something to do with this visit to your parents and explaining why you can't come next time. You mentioned something like that when you were on that mad spending spree. Whoever this Evan guy is rocks, since he let us keep everything.

I paused, thinking back to the weird way he hadn't argued, just canceled the card without bringing it up ever again, just eliciting a promise from me to wear the black dress I'd found that had broken the floodgates on my spending reluctance, so to speak. Even if he hadn't seen it and I hadn't described it to him. He just told me he'd take me out for dinner when Lizzie was busy with one of the events that I can find a reason to skip.

Leah Warner: I suppose so. I'm still leery on trusting him.

Lizzie: Rightly so. You haven't seen this guy since college, and that was hell of a semester from what you've mentioned.

Leah Warner: He was suspiciously careful to make sure we never ran into any of his friends or anyone else he had class with. He never let me hang around while he signed in, etcetera.

Lizzie: Then look at this trip to Gotham as a way to help me out. If I get the internship, and I do well enough, I may be able to convince them to pay for my education so long as I come work for them for a reduced salary during the summer and for so long after graduation. And salaries at Wayne Enterprises can be pretty sweet.

Leah Warner: In the upper echelon I'm sure.

Lizzie: Ms. Warner? I hate to be crass, but I have my dreams. You may have had yours, but you can still choose to find something to dream about. Don't ever give up, okay? I can better myself, even if I'm a penniless kid with nobody who really cares about me.

I hesitated thinking about what she'd said.

Leah Warner: You're coming to live here when we get back from Gotham. I care. Let's make a deal. I back you all the way, a hundred percent and you don't let me quit. You make sure I get started online finishing up my degree.

Lizzie: You never told me why you defaulted to the minor on your bachelor's and abandoned your master's. Was it finances?

I flashback to the day Mom was diagnosed with dementia and Dad had the series of strokes as a result. Mom had called and had told me what had happened after she knew Dad was going to be okay. She had already called Emma and I could hear Emma freaking out in the background, fluffing pillows and generally being her fake self like always except for when it's just me and her. Mom had been so out of it, and Emma had told her that there was just no more money for college, unless I was willing to pay for it on my own. Emma had come on the line and had told me in no uncertain terms that some of her fellow members of whatever sorority it was that she belonged to that I had been cavorting like a slut with someone that apparently was "claimed by her sorority sister Amy Lou." She didn't name the guy, she just told me that if I'd been that slutty, maybe I could fake something and get enough money from him to pay for my "stupid paper" out of a silence deal. The first time I showed up to visit my own parents, Emma kept me out, and told me that I was out of luck and she'd had her current snag get legal documentation that my parents were no longer going to pay and that I didn't have the means to pay and had somehow violated academic policies. I was kicked out of Princeton, because of my little sister.

Leah Warner: It's a story best saved for a better day. You turn eighteen the day we fly out. You wanna start helping me get stuff situated for you to move in temporarily, until you get that gig in Gotham? I'm sure you'll make a friend who'll give you a place to stay.

Lizzie: Alright Ms. Warner! Let's get this show on the road.

Leah Warner: Call me Leah when we're out of school. I'll be your fudging Aunt or something if people ask. I'm adopting you as my niece because aunts get more spoiling rights.

Lizzie: That's weird logic.

Leah Warner: I'm too young to be grandma.

Lizzie: Got it. When I get my first car, it'll say "I CALLED MY AUNTIE." Thank ya Auntie Leah.

I doubled over laughing, and started writing my lesson plans with a smile.

Leah Warner: That seems weird but awesome at the same time. I've got some lesson plans to write, and I've got to go visit my parents tomorrow. Monday you'll come with me after school and we'll get the second bedroom cleaned out. Tuesday we'll move in your stuff.

Lizzie: Aggressive, and yet still the awesome auntie. You're the best.

A good feeling settles into the pit of my soul and I turn up the AC/DC while I work. Time to rock. I have a reputation to uphold, and I'm gonna still manage to be a good teacher even if I'm going off to Gotham to help my now adopted (sort of) niece. I can't believe I didn't step in and help her sooner. I feel like shit still over that, but I made a difference, I can feel it, something almost motherly dawning inside of me. It sucks that it's coming too late for me to take back everything I've done in the past.

_Bruce's POV_

I stared triumphantly at the perfect lasagna in front of me. I wanted to celebrate.

"Congratulations Master Wayne." Alfred smiled at me, as he prepared to go into town for the evening to meet a friend of his who was a butler at some other person's house. He held out a bottle of wine and a glass. "I know you don't drink and you haven't in a long time, but you should practice. When Ms. Warner comes, you'll be unable to resort to your usual tricks, and you'll need to be yourself, not just your usual public persona Master Wayne."

"I'll take it easy," I smile at him. "I've come a long way. Thanks."

"Just be careful," Alfred had a worried look in your eye. "You need to give Rachel up and you need to not expect Ms. Warner to be your new solution."

"Rachel is still my only solution. Leah's an old friend. We had something, but things went wrong, and she's just a friend now." I promise Alfred. "We aren't going to step back onto the path that we were on before. It's gone, long gone."

I watch him drive away than take my first hesitant drink of something with any level of alcoholic content in a while. It's a smooth taste, warm and rich with all the subtle hints promised on the label. I cut out a hunk of the lasagna and set it on a plate and sit down at the small table. I was glad I wasn't using the main kitchen, but the smaller private one. It felt more homey, something I never thought I'd say about any place here. It was a warm gooey deliciousness, and I savored it. I could cook. Well...I look pointedly towards the sink and the trash can. This was only the fourth try at a lasagna today. I was going to have it done by five so Alfred wouldn't have to keep making himself his own food. I need to get this right faster. Soon.

**AN: Alright, I'm back temporarily updating. Obviously I have't taken it issues make me want to have the backup of having it posted up here available. I'm going to try to finish the updated chapters by mid/end of June if possible, end of July at the latest, and I've decided to rewrite the entire epilogue, so if you're reading this for this first time, disregard the epilogue. A new one is in progress. **

**Also, no news feeds have reported a fanfic author buying the rights to batman, so is a disclaimer needed? I don't own it. **


	7. Chapter 7-UPDATED

**Chapter 7-UPDATED**

_Bruce's POV_

I curled up in a ball, hiding from the sunlight. I didn't want to get up. I wasn't scared, I was simply nervous. I had ten hours until I had to leave for the airport. In those ten hours, I had to sneak into town, open up the penthouse, get myself some clothes that weren't too big for me without being identified, and meet with Lucius to make a plan for if I was identified if I attended any of the events.

"Alfred?" I called, tentatively, as I gave in and stretched. It was nine am, the latest he's let me sleep in a while. He had to have been the one who opened up the curtains.

"Breakfast is waiting downstairs." He responded, coming out of the doorway to the bathroom.

"Alright." I stood up, realizing how cold it was in the room when I crawled out from under my covers and stretched again. "I'll shower tonight before I go to the airport. I'll just get all dusty again cleaning out the penthouse anyways." I stumbled blearily over to the dresser and pulled out a plain black t-shirt and pulled it over my head. I'd feel better if I showered now, because I always shower first, but then, that was a habit developed even before I crawled out of my bed after a year spent grieving, a year that I don't regret, when I think of it. I'd fucked up. I'd fucked everything up.

"You seem to not be yourself again Master Wayne." Alfred noted, as I rooted around hunting for my slippers. I also seem to misplace the bloody things lately. But I told Alfred I wanted him to let me cope so that I would seem a bit more capable of taking care of myself when I'm at the penthouse.

"I miss her." I said simply. "But I'm going to try to move on and all that. I'm just hoping that this doesn't go badly Alfred. If I go through any more tragedy, than I fear that I'm going to go back into the desolate creature I was and never emerge again. I just want a friend."

"A female friend Master Wayne?" Alfred's tone was clear. He'd be pissed off if I ended up just using Leah as a rebound. The thing is, I'm not sure myself if that's going to be the case.

I follow him down the stairs, and into the smaller kitchen that we've been using for so long. I can smell the pancakes before I can see them, and I notice that he has the syrup warming up, just like I love it. There's a plate of bacon next to my usual spot, and I sigh happily. So far so good.

"How do you want your eggs?" Alfred asks, "I waited to make them because you've been waffling."

I hug him, "I'll take care of myself Alfred."  
"No you won't. You're off to take care of yourself. I'm going to take care of you at least for breakfast, and I've already made sandwiches for you to take to the penthouse." Alfred pointed to a basket already made up, ready for me to take. "The eggs?"  
"Whatever you want Alfred," I say, knowing he was probably going to make some up for himself. "Just not boiled. They stink that way."

He smiles at me in that friendly, fatherly manner that he has of looking at me often. "Very well then."

I piled pancakes onto my plate and drenched them in the syrup, taking a mouthful of bacon and closing my eyes happily. I've managed to learn to cook a few things, but that's only served to make every time I'm not cooking taste all the more delicious. "I'll do the dishes," I promise, protesting against Alfred doing everything. I'm trying to help out more, not just be a leech of a rich brat.

"You need to get to the penthouse as soon as you can. It'll be a mess after a year in sheets." Alfred pointed out. "Grab what you need from your room that you didn't pack last night when you were helping me put sheets over everything."

"You're going to go visit friends in England, right Alfred?" I inquire, so that I can file the information away so I don't wake him up in the night with the time zone difference and all.

"Yes." Alfred's response was curt. "You know to call me if you need anything."

"Of course," I promise. "I'll be fine though." I hope. I don't know that much, and I'm still lazy as hell. I shovel more food into my mouth, feeling famished, and smile at him with my eyes. "Breakfast is delicious."

_Leah's POV_

I shuffled through the various memos sitting on my desk relating to the school and put the thick binder of detailed lesson plans next to those that were still relevant. The substitute would be arriving any time now, and I'd be telling them where to find things, letting them know which students would need more help, all that fun stuff. I'd had this guy as a sub before, if it was the same sub like I hoped it was, as the time I'd had my appendix removed. I bite my lip and look at the clock. If the sub didn't show up in the next two minutes I was going to have to leave anyways. I pulled out a yellow pad of paper and started writing, block lettering, since I was feeling hurried, my usual loopy cursive would be illegible.

I wrote down all the usual stuff, enclosing a permission slip stating that I would be okay with the sub accessing my school account in order to do grades and answer parent emails. I wrote specific instructions as to what they could do, and requested that they just be given a temp sub account if there would be problems enforcing my requests. All the usual bullshit that I had to deal with when I had to leave for any reason—I've had to come in and deal with all of this shit when I was running a 102 degree fever once. This district has one of the worst ever reputations for their policies for their teachers, yet another reason to find a way out of this.

The bell rang, signifying the end of how long I was willing to wait for the substitute to arrive. I picked up my satchel and strode out the door, waving to my students. "Lana! You need to get into my classroom and page an admin. I have to leave to catch my flight or I'm screwed. The sub is late, and I'm out of time. I left instructions. For now, Band of Brothers is in the player already. Start at the first episode with some action in it."

The hall monitor nodded and radioed for an administrator to come from the other side of the school and I ran towards where I'd parked my car. Lizzie was waiting there already, her backpack dumped on the ground next to her. "We're living this hole in the wall right?" She said, flicking a switchblade open that she'd produced from under her sleeve. "We need to grab our stuff from the apartment."

"I need to change." I was wearing a pencil skirt today, because all my slacks were packed, and I wanted to be comfortable for the afternoon. We had a two hour drive to the airport, then we had to take two different flights with an hour and a half layover after one to reach Gotham at ten forty-five at night. I should report her for having a switchblade, but I don't fucking care at this point, she's leaving campus and had to come ready to go to freaking Gotham City for the most part.

"Got it. I'll load the stuff into the car while you do that. I'm good to go." She was dressed comfortably, with a pair of slippers on her feet. "And the slippers are so that it takes less time at the security checkpoints."

"I wasn't gonna ask," I said, turning the engine on and gunning it out of the parking lot. "Let's go to Gotham."

_Bruce's POV_

I looked at the clock and panicked. It was ten o'clock. I'd meant to leave an hour ago so I could find the best place to lurk in the shadows waiting. I grabbed the last of Alfred's sandwiches and looked around frantically. I'd managed to clear off all the dust cloths in the rooms that would be needed the most. I could clean up the rest at a later point. Everything smelled fairly clean and I had a Maserati that was brand new, that I'd purchased while out getting new clothes, that couldn't be traced to Bruce Wayne.

I'd made up the master bedroom and the two closets other rooms, leaving two more guest rooms. I'd even stashed a couple guns in secure locations throughout the place, wincing the entire time. I knew that Leah would probably have a gun on her person, since she'd asked me about Gotham's conceal-carry policies. I just felt like I'd missed something, and that if I didn't figure out what it was, something would go wrong and this would fail. But I'm out of time.

"Help me," I muttered under my breath, not expecting anyone to hear or answer. I left the lights on in the main rooms, shutting off the lights in the side rooms and the bedrooms, not to mention the bathrooms, running the whole time. I was already wearing a pair of jeans, and I could feel my phone and the keys in the pockets, aware of how much more fitted they were than the too big ones I'd been wearing since I'd traded in my pajamas. "Fuck fuck fuck!" I muttered, shoving a pair of shoes onto my feet, since I'd been using my socks to slide around for a little bit. Okay, more like an hour. I grabbed a black long-sleeved dress shirt from my closet and ran out the door, locking it behind me and hitting the parking-garage button in the elevator viciously. I shoved my arms into the sleeves and hoped it wouldn't be too cold out. I also hoped that the SOG knife I'm sure I bought is in the car, so I can have something on my person for armament just in case something goes wrong. I took a year off of working-out, losing all sorts of weight and definitely all the muscles I'd earned the hard way.

I pulled up Leah's flight on my phone, having downloaded the app for the airlines so I could keep track and I groaned. They were going to be here in half an hour, because they'd somehow hit a good wind or something. I don't really understand it all.

I pulled out of my spot with a wave at Daniel Zakrewski, the modeling agent who lived on the first floor, and could barely afford the spot. Evan Branson had hit the tabloids briefly when I'd 'purchased' the penthouse off of Bruce Wayne, and Daniel Zakrewski and decided he wanted to get me to model. Hell no. Even if I didn't have all the physical scars (emotional and mental scars not withstanding in a discussion of modeling, not really) from being Batman, I still wouldn't. I had told him to see if Wayne was interested, laughing at the stupidity of what I was doing.

I screamed through the streets of Gotham, ignoring the speed-limit, hoping that my reason for being late could be excused as the fact that I took a shower, and promptly got distracted by sock-sliding, instead of the fact that I was sock-sliding and decided to speed to avoid having to tell the truth, and got a whopping ticket. Did I mention that I had opted to not get fake-ID because of the risks involved? I was still Bruce Wayne on my driver's license and that wouldn't be pretty.

It was ten thirty exactly when I slid into a spot at the airport, pissed that it had taken a minute for the stupid machine to spit out a piece of paper, effectively a receipt, saying that I drove through its little gate and was going to pay. As I got out, I slid the knife and scabbard into the side of my jeans and checked in the reflection of the windows that the un-tucked dress shirt hid the evidence that I was carrying an eight inch knife. I didn't want to start everything off by getting tackled by airport security and GCPD arresting me.

I sprinted towards the baggage claim section of the airport, stopping only momentarily to see that their flight, 52418 had landed and was "disembarking." I scanned the carousels and saw one pending, no luggage rolling yet, for flight 52418. I headed towards it and waited, in the shadows of a pillar, looking for Leah. She'd had Lizzie take a picture of her at their layover and had texted it to me, so that I could recognize her, but I was still nervous that I wouldn't recognize her and that things would be insane. Evan Branson's mug-shot had yet to grace any magazine covers and I wanted to keep it that way.

A stream of people poured down the escalators from upstairs and I saw her, among the last few people in the bunch, with a blonde-haired girl who was looking around, obviously excited. I guessed that she was Lizzie. Leah was standing protectively next to her, eying a man in a suit who seemed to be keeping a close eye on her. My brain automatically started going through all the mobsters I could remember, trying to see if he was one of them, and I shook my head. I watched as the happy reunions began, and the man in the suit took himself and his briefcase towards a waiting car that appeared to be from a military motor-pool. He must be a civilian contractor or something. Leah didn't seem to relax after he left, looking nervous. Lizzie must see Gotham as her opportunity to get started in life. Leah was probably more concerned about the still quite high crime rate and all the stuff that goes with that. She was dressed in skinny jeans and a pair of knee high black heeled boots, with a pea-coat draped over one arm and a satchel over her other shoulder. She was wearing a black tank-top, and her hair was tied up in a sloppy bun. She looked a lot like the girl I remembered, only older, tired, more world-weary.

I looked around quickly for any members of the press, or people I recognized and then stepped out from my pillar and waved. "Leah!" I called, heading towards her. She looked around and then locked eyes with me, a look of relief appearing on her face.

"You have no idea how much I'm dreading the return trip."

"Oh come on Auntie Leah," the blonde girl, Lizzie, insisted. "It wasn't that bad."

"Oh yes it was," she muttered. "Those security people at the security checkpoints didn't need to do a pat down, I was clean."

"Ceramics and all that kinds of stuff," I put in my two cents. "I hear there's a major problem with them, and since you were heading here…" I trailed off and lead them to the baggage check. "So, what kind of luggage do you have and is it marked distinctively?"

"I have a full set of Louis Vuitton, and I'm Lizzie," the blonde girl cut in. "Auntie Leah's got a black set of Biaggi. I can recognize them all." She elbowed her way into the queue and pulled off a smaller Louis Vuitton bag as the bags started to roll past.

"I ought to help her, right?" I ask Leah, feeling rather stupid as the words leave my mouth.

"Hey Lizzie, need some help?" She asks, tapping her student, and apparently suddenly her niece, on the shoulder.

"Get a luggage cart or two?" Lizzie turned and beamed at us. "You two talk. The awkwardness is stifling."

Leah lightly hits the girl's shoulder, playfully. "Alright then. Don't hurt yourself on the larger pieces of luggage. We'll be back quickly enough that we can help with those."

"Yeah yeah yeah," Lizzie muttered.

Leah turned back to me. "So, where's the luggage carts?"

I shrugged sheepishly. "I'm not a hundred percent sure. Shall we try the signs over there?"

"Alright," Leah said. "You going to commit on my not as ridiculously priced luggage or not?"

"Nope." I smirk. "Price isn't a real object. She's right about the awkwardness Leah."

"Hey, it's been nine, nine and a half years, something like that. Practically a decade. How've you been?" She embraces me in a hug, and I smell the scent of her body-wash faintly on her, along with the smells of a coach class on an airplane that overpower the nicer scent of her body-wash.

"Trying to survive." I hug her back after a moment, and then it's over, and we're walking towards the signs. "You've already told me a lot. How was the flight other than security?"

"Passable. Better than driving by far." She smiles, as we reach a long row of rentable luggage carts. "You have change?"

I wince. "Just enough to pay parking and my credit card, sorry."

"It's okay." She pulls out her wallet from her satchel and digs out the three bucks in quarters necessary for renting the carts. $1.50 is extremely cheap for a luggage cart, but I'm not going to complain. "I have plenty of change from the vending machines at work."

"Got it." I grab one of the carts and she grabs the other, dumping her coat and satchel in the top basket. "I don't know if you'll want the coat. I just didn't have time for mine, and I was running to get here on time, since I saw your flight was going to be early. "

"Oh, thanks. I just didn't have enough room to put it in my bags." She rolled her eyes. "I over-pack. What can I say? I'm female." She pushes the cart rapidly, speeding up all of a sudden.

"Leah?"

"I forgot. I checked a hard-case with a hand-gun in it, and I didn't tell Lizzie because I didn't want to freak her out." She isn't looking so she doesn't see my pained wince. I knew Leah would probably have a gun, but still, I'm so uncomfortable around guns this awkwardness will probably never go away. "I'm sorry if that's a problem…"

"No, its fine," I lie through my teeth, putting one of my well-practiced fake smiles on. "Go get it. You'll need to check in with the GCPD about your permit, right?"

"Yeah, tomorrow. Don't tell Lizzie?" She turns and the look in her eyes tells me that Leah isn't comfortable around guns.

"I won't, I promise," I instinctively grab and squeeze her hand quickly, not sure why, I just do. "Now, let's go help your student. I'm being a terrible host so far."

**AN: Still don't own anything but the characters I created and my plot. **


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: In several hours I have not acquired the rights to any of this, and they haven't called and offered to buy my OC's (I wouldn't give in). I feel accomplished though in the sense that I made more progress than expected. However, I need sleep now. Would the plot bunnies give me a break for a few hours please? **

_Leah's POV_

I grabbed the case off of the carousel and slid it underneath my luggage as I loaded my own luggage onto the baggage cart. I'd shooed Evan over to help Lizzie, because this was her first time travelling like this and well, I'd noticed the fake smile on his face when I'd mentioned my gun. I smiled as I noticed Evan's chivalrous actions towards Lizzie. I step closer once I've hidden the gun case, dragging the cart behind me with one hand.

"Getting along already?" I smile, and put a hand on Lizzie's shoulder for a moment, letting her know I saw how tired she was.

"Yep, Evan's offered to take us on a tour of Gotham tomorrow." Lizzie chirped, being her usual effervescent self even though I knew that the second she was shown to her room she'd probably curl up on the bed and fall asleep.

"All of it?" I look at Evan with a sharp look. I knew from talking with him that there were parts of Gotham that the Dent Act hadn't reached and would probably never reach.

"Just where it's okay," Evan looked at me and I felt that the look in his eyes was meant to tell me something more, something important, but I just couldn't. I felt awesome as if I should apologize to him. "I'm not going to take you two deep into the Narrows, just the edge so that you can know if you're starting to hit it. I might not always be able to be along."  
"You mentioned it online," I murmur, still wondering what it was I saw a glint of in his eyes.

We start walking out of the terminal, since everything is closed down, and I felt the slight chill of the air. I noticed Evan take a deep breath as he stepped out. Maybe it's the temperature, since he's only wearing a lightweight dress shirt, but it could be something else. He's not the haunted boy I knew in college. He's someone else—still haunted, but he's pulled himself together and done something so that he can carry himself more proudly, with his head held high, except he doesn't.

"So, how far away is the penthouse?" Lizzie breaks the silence, as I shrug into my coat, realizing that wearing a tank-top was ridiculous. Remind me to think more clearly when I pack next time and actually check the weather.

"It's about a forty-five minute drive when you follow the rules of the road. I made it in half somehow without getting pulled over," Evan says, as if speeding through town enough to cut fifteen minutes off of the commute is normal. I raise an eyebrow and he shrugs sheepishly. "I didn't want to be late to get you two. It's only been a little over a year since the Dent Act."

"Eyuck," Lizzie's automatic reaction startles Evan and he looks at her startled.

"You don't like Dent?" Evan's expression is unreadable and I'm even more curious.

"Nope, not one ounce. He's a fake son of a…" She trails off as she sees a Maserati unlocking and Evan stopping at it with her cart of luggage, opening the trunk and wincing. "It's a….."

"A brand new Maserati?" Evan smirked, and I remembered why I'd felt so comfortable talking to him and why I'd remembered the name all these years. "You have your license?"

"Auntie Leah got me a permit last Friday. I'm not supposed to use it yet because I haven't had the first lesson with the driving instructor company." Lizzie frowned. "I'm still loving on that piece of paper."

He laughed, and I smiled, wondering if she had actually slept with it under her pillow like she'd originally said she was going to. "Tell you what Lizzie," he said, reaching out to start loading my bags, quickly and easily, even though it looked like he wasn't one to frequent gyms. "I'll take you out driving on one of the days you have off. If I take you to the Palisades, most people won't care."

"You mean it?" Lizzie stood over on the passenger seat as Evan loaded in the last of the bags into the car, and I did my best to look at how the shirt and jeans flattered him without being noticed. Lizzie was happy, she was loving the trip already. She already needed to load pictures off of her new camera onto her equally new laptop. The wonders of the shopping spree with Evan's card.

"Yeah I mean it," Evan shuts the trunk and starts to take her cart back, leaving my satchel and the hidden gun case in mine. "You going to keep those bags with you, right Leah?"

"Yeah, I will." I turn take them, hiding the gun case from Lizzie the best I could. "Front or back Lizzie?"

"Back," she says. "I'm probably going to fall asleep in the car."

"Got it," I shove my stuff in the front seat, and then dash to put my cart in the return corral. Evan smiles at me when he sees me riding on the back of the cart the last few feet.

"That fun?"

"Like you haven't ever done it before." I retort, shoving the cart into place behind the one Lizzie's luggage had been on.

"I haven't." He admits, tossing me the keys. "You have a valid license right?"

"What? I've never been in Gotham before and I don't know my way and…" I panic, trying not to mention either that I'm scared stiff of the thought of driving a Maserati. I have enough trouble when I borrow Samantha Stephan's Volvo, which is five years old, not brand new and smelling like it just came off the lot off a shipping container today.

"You drove in New York that one time…." He smiles impishly at me.

"That was different, and I hit a light post!" I cry, as he starts to pull me back towards the car. "It's late, I've been travelling…"  
"And I've been frantically cleaning all day today." He puts an arm around my shoulders jovially, like friends. "Come on, I'll navigate you through everything and keep you off the roads where there'll be trouble."

So I find myself behind the wheel of a brand new Maserati Quattroporte S, going sixty-five, down some large avenue in Gotham. Lizzie's asleep, her head resting on a pillow made of my coat and her sweatshirt, and the radio is playing softly. I recognize the song and starting singing along softly, and Evan laughs softly.

"You have a nice voice; I don't think I ever heard you sing before." Evan whispers, trying not to wake Lizzie. I already let him know she sleeps lightly because of 'past traumas.' I'm not one to go spilling secrets all the time.

"That's because you were never around in the morning when I took a shower ass." I playfully punch him in the upper arm, not taking my eyes off the road.

"Sorry, I had an early morning class."

"That you flunked because you slept through it. You could've stayed the rest of the night if that was going to be the case," I mutter darkly. The first thing we really talk about just has to be the one time we actually slept together and remember it.

"You made shitty coffee." He points out, correctly. I can't stand coffee. Tea for me, thanks.

"Duh. But I make a mean cuppa tea." I take on a fake English accent and he laughs.

"You sound more Australian than British really," he takes on a fake English accent of his own and we laugh together, and I don't notice the needle inching up to eighty. Nope, not until I hear the sirens, moments later.

"Oh shit!" I hiss under my breath. "You told me sixty-five was fine."

"If we were careful," he leans over to where he can see what speed I'm going on the speedometer. "Fuck. Eighty is not good. This is a forty-five zone."

"So I'm going thirty-five over the limit! I can't afford this!" I panic, as I start to pull over, having gotten out of the web of closely strung together intersections. My first thought is that I should never have listened to Evan about this. I mean, New York was a disaster and it was all his idea. Well, I was the one who wanted to see if we could sneak in to see a Broadway show.

I put my hands on the wheel, since I've gotten a couple speeding tickets before and look straight ahead. "You're paying for the ticket Evan Branson."

"Of course I will," he says, reaching back and grabbing Lizzie's baseball cap. "Don't ask," he mutters. "I'll put it back where I found it." He puts it on and pulls it down over his eyes just as the officer walks up and raps on the window with his flashlight as he shines it into the car.

"Roll down the window please ma'am." It's an older officer, in plain clothes, and I notice that the car behind me isn't a marked car.

"Good evening officer," I say smartly, as soon as the window is rolled down. "Just to let you know, I do have a handgun registered in my name in a locked hard case, unloaded in the passenger foot-well."

"Thanks for letting me know ma'am. I'll need to see your license and the registration for the car. Also, if you have a permit for the gun on you ma'am, otherwise I'll need to run the serial through the system, and that will take a while." He looks in the backseat. "Too much to drink?"

"Just got off a plane. Travelling all day," I make conversation while Evan reaches for the registration and hands it to me. "Evan, my wallet in my satchel?"

"Oh right," Evan mutters, still using the fake accent. "Sorry about that darling." I hand the officer the registration and he doesn't take his eyes off of Evan and I, the flashlight still shining into our eyes. "Can I ask why you need to confirm the gun registration? And do you need to see the handgun also?"

"It's a part of a recently released bill called the Dawes Act that concerns a higher level of gun control ma'am. And yes, I will need to see the handgun if you have a permit to verify the serial. Also, I should have asked earlier, do you know why you were stopped?"

"Yes, I do know why. I don't have a problem with letting you see the handgun." I take my license from Evan and signal for him to hand me the gun case. "Here's my license. Do you want the gun case now?"

"Sure," he takes it from me and notes the combination lock. "TSA?"

"Yep. It's 109189." I volunteer the code, knowing that being nice and fully cooperative is helpful.

"Leah, here's the registration papers." Evan's voice is still in the English accent, and I can't help but decide I like it. A lot. Although why he's changing his voice is a mystery to me.

"Oh thanks. Here Officer."

"It's actually Commissioner," the man adds. "I caught up on enough paperwork so I let myself come out for a night with the patrol."

"Sir,' I nod, as he walks back towards the car.

"That was Commissioner Gordon," Evan elaborates. "He's a good guy; I've just gotten a few too many speeding tickets from GCPD, I think I may be overdue on a ticket too."

"Riiiight," I draw the 'I' out sarcastically and keep my hands on the wheel, still slightly panicking.

"Deep breaths Leah. In through the nose, out through the mouth." He listens to my breathing and nods when I've slowed down enough for him.  
He comes back after only a couple minutes, and he hands me the case back first, which I hand to Evan, knowing I'm going to need to apologize for making him handle my gun, even in its case so often in so short an amount of time. "Alright Ms. Warner, if you'll just sign here."

He hands me the ticket book and a black Bic pen. I take it and sign it, handing it back after noticing the hefty fine attached to the ticket. Oh Evan…you are going to pay this for me. Your own supposed speeding tickets can rot for all I care, but you're paying off mine as soon as the waiting period is over.

The commissioner rips out the ticket and hands my copy to me along with the registrations and my license. "Your court date, if you so choose to, is the 29th. You can pay in five working days at any branch of the GCPD, although I'd prefer you bring it to MCU, since I gave you the ticket. I've logged a note in the system though that you need to bring your gun and permit in to check in officially with us by this time tomorrow. I need a place of residence for if you don't show and some proof."  
"She's staying with me sir," Evan speaks up. "I've got a card here. I work at home so the address is the same." He passes the crisp white card over me to the commissioner. "Thanks for all your work Commissioner Gordon. It means a lot."

Commissioner Gordon, since Evan's named him now, seems a bit startled. He reads the name on the card before putting it in his ticket book, sticking out slightly. "Thanks Mr. Branson. Have a good evening."

"You too sir," I add. "Stay warm."

I wait until he's back in his car before slowly starting the car again and driving off at a now sedate seeming forty-five. "I'm not going over forty-five now."

"Aww come on. Most cops let you have three miles per hour on the speed limit," Evan whined, taking the ticket from where I'd set it in the center. "I'll pay this. I did egg you on."  
"You're such a gentleman Evan Branson," I snort sarcastically, turning up the music and smiling as "Pennies from Heaven" floats around me. It's the Frank Sinatra and Count Basie version and I smile wistfully, thinking of the happy memories associated with my childhood and this song.

"My dad used to play this all the time…" I murmur. "He asks for it sometimes at the home. It's one of the few things he clings to. He's had a lot of small strokes, and it's affected his mind, just like my mom's dementia. It's so hard to see them slowly dying, and be powerless."

Evan is silent for a moment. "Were they there for your high school graduation?"

"Yeah," I say, after a curious moment of thought.

"Mine were long gone by then," he squeezes my hand where it sits on the shifter. "It's got to be hard to see them slowly dying, and to see them not yourself, but cherish the memories you have of them. Especially when they were so excited over the piece of paper saying you were done with the first full system of education."

"I will." I promise not only Evan but myself. "It's just so hard."

"I know Leah, I know."

I drive in silence and he just gestures the directions, until ten minutes later we pull into the parking lot of the apartment building. The valets are at the front entrance, but Evan has us entering the back way. I pull into the spot marked Branson and shut off the car. I unbuckle and sit there a moment before turning and facing him. "Sorry about that, and making you handle even the gun case."

"It's okay. It's going to be okay Leah," he promises me, as he hugs me tightly.


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: Nope, still don't own shit related to Batman except my OC's and my boxed set of TDK trilogy and my copies (unfortunately not signed by anyone) of the scripts. **

_Bruce's POV_

I hold onto her, letting her cry onto my shoulder until she pulls away, wiping her eyes. I don't look at the clock, it doesn't matter. I wonder if it would have been easier for me if Chill's shots hadn't immediately killed my parents and they'd lingered in ICU, receiving the best care possible until they finally died.

"Thanks Evan," Leah whispers, still trying to not wake up Lizzie. "I needed that."

"I understand perfectly," I tell her sincerely, as I shove the idea out of my head and lock it away A vivid memory of the looks on their faces when they were shot spins through my mind and I take a few quick panicky breaths, then starting breathing deeply again.

"You okay?" Leah asks, as she reaches over and grabs the gun case and her satchel.

"Yeah," I open my door to get out. "Yeah, I'm fine. I'll carry Lizzie up if you don't want to wake her up."  
"She slept through getting pulled over. I think she needs the sleep, if you don't mind," Leah looks at me quizzically, wondering clearly if I can manage to carry hr.

"I got her," I open the car door and unbuckle the sleeping internship applicant. As I pick her up, the thought pops into my mind that she's about how heavy Rachel was when I carried her out of the dark grottos of Arkham after Crane had gassed her. I shove that thought out of my mind as well and send a silent plea to the oxygen atoms around me for help. Not that oxygen can help my mind. I think back to how Alfred had always wanted me to go see a shrink when I was younger. He'd brought it up again the other day, but I just couldn't.

"The elevator needs a key," Leah points out, as she shuts the doors to the car. I'd forgotten to shut my car door before getting Lizzie.

"On the key ring. The code is 91873." I offer the code voluntarily, knowing she'll need it to operate the elevator. "It's kind of crazy, but it works. I'll come get the luggage after we've got Lizzie inside and I've shown you around."

"I'll help you," She says, locking the Maserati with the fob and then striding purposefully towards the elevator. I follow her, hoping that I really do have the strength to carry Lizzie all the way. I haven't been lifting weights or anything lately at all. I'm pretty sure I can do it, but I have a feeling willpower is going to play a major role in the situation.

"I can get them." I tell her, knowing that I could follow through with that statement with about five trips to the car and back.

"I'm at least going to get my luggage," Leah hits the button for the penthouse and hits the mute button for the elevator music. "I don't want to just be some useless guest. I'm going to help out. I've only got a couple events I have to attend and the two interviews with the Wayne Enterprises people."

"Alright. By the way, where are those dresses? I don't see a dress bag or anything…"

"The more you check the more expensive. Also, the number of clothes we needed hung up was ridiculous. Is there a dry cleaner you can recommend?"

"Yeah, it's same day service too. I'll drop you off at the station tomorrow and then Lizzie and I will go take care of it."

"You owe me an explanation about the disguise too Evan Branson. Speeding tickets aside." She sees straight through the veneer and I feel like panicking. I don't want to tell her that I've been lying to her for ten years, that I'm Bruce Wayne. I'll have to tell her eventually, but I want to be normal. I want to be Evan Branson.

"I've had some bad run-ins with some of the police. I'm not an angel Leah." She looks at the back of my shirt and pokes around at my shoulders.

"Yep. No wings," she looks at my head and ruffles my hair gently, "and no halo either. Not even a pair of horns to hold the halo up either."  
I laugh, and shake my head slightly at her antics. "You're unique, you know that right?"  
She pretends to file a nail and then winks at me coquettishly, fake, but still, I feel my heart skip a beat. "Well, y'all know that everyone's got somethin' different about them, even those airhead bimbos so many rich assholes seem to love fucking around with. Each one is less intelligent than the last bitch," the southern drawl and the glint in her eyes reminds me of the time we spent at a gym where she knew the owner, her teaching me some self-defense after a couple asses roughed me over once.

"Oh stop it," I laugh again, hiding my frustration and fear based on the fact that as Bruce Wayne, I had been pretending to fuck around with airheads like that, and trust me, the conversation was duuullll. "I don't want to wake Lizzie up."

The elevator stops and opens up into the penthouse and I lead her inside, up to the closest of the bedrooms, setting Lizzie down on the bed after Leah quickly pulls the covers down enough so Lizzie would be under the covers. Lizzie pulls off the slippers and sets them to one side of the bed and tucks her student, and apparent niece in gently.

"She'll be fine. A bit bewildered when she wakes up, but she'll be fine." Leah smiles at me. "Let's go get that luggage. You can show me around once we've got that all up here. I want to put on some sweatpants and a warm sweatshirt before I get the grand tour."

"Comfort oriented you, I'm quite interested in seeing what you're going to look like for all the events where you have to wear dresses. I don't think I've ever seen you in a dress." I lead the way back to the elevator and we start to ride down again. "Also, what do you think about dinner on Friday night, Italian?"

"Sounds good," Lizzie says, and then smiles impishly. "It's a date, just a friends, but it's a date."


	10. Chapter 10

**AN: I don't own anything recognizable as the property of WB or Nolan. **

_Leah's POV_

I yawned and stretched, not wanting to look at the clock and see how late I slept. I'd stayed up talking with Evan over candy cane ice cream, hot fudge drizzled on top of it, until almost one in the morning, which was late for me when I've been travelling. I should have known better, but it was worth it to reminisce over the old times back at Princeton, to talk about professors and favorite spots. In six months, one can create a lot of memories.

The luxury of the room was astonishing, and something I wasn't used to, but the comfort of it was wonderful. I wriggled around happily, feeling the silk of the sheets against where my nightgown didn't cover. I reminded myself of my mental note to pack better next time, so that the first thing I could find would be something more normal, like a pair of sweats and a tank-top, not the lacy affair that I had been given by someone that I can't remember as a gag-gift ages ago. I could only hope that Evan wasn't going to come in and see me like this. That would be more than awkward.

My phone vibrated on the table beside the bed and I picked it up reflexively. "Hello?"  
"Did I wake you?" Lizzie's voice is concerned. "Because it's eleven and we've got to get moving."  
"I'm up. I was up. Let me get dressed and shower." I try not to sound as groggy as I really am. I can't believe it's eleven. I haven't slept this late for several months.

"Alright. Be quick about it. I already fetched your dry cleaning and Evan's out putting it into his cleaners right now." Lizzie chirped, and I could hear something rustling. "I'm reading the paper right now. There's an article about all the people arriving. Also, this place is huge."  
"It's two floors. Evan showed me around last night." I try not to sound impressed. "Did he show you around or is he being his mysterious self like usual?"  
"He showed me around, made me breakfast. Told me not to wake you up until now because you'd been up way too late. Said something about you were reading." Lizzie's voice told me she didn't disapprove of my reading, but she was a bit annoyed, because of the unspoken fact—Evan was waiting for me to be ready for the grand tour of Gotham. I'd told him last night to just take her if I overslept.

"How early were you two up?"  
"I woke up at eight. Evan appeared around eight thirty." I could hear her putting the rustling newsprint down. "Listen, get a move on it. I'm impatient."  
"Of course you are. I'll see you in twenty." I hang up, knowing she won't mind, because she does it to me all the time. I know why Lizzie is so impatient. It's not just that she's in a new city, a city that's been in the news so much, it's that she needs to keep herself busy so she doesn't collapse into a pool of nerves. She knows as much as I do that if she doesn't walk in at eight am tomorrow morning to the front lobby of Wayne Enterprises and check herself into the program that her odds will be insignificant, her chances not worth the effort of being here, even if Evan has paved the way for the two of us.

I climb out of bed, and make sure I did mark my place in the book I was reading last night, before heading over to where my suitcases were, to grab clean clothes—jeans, a t-shirt and a plain hooded sweatshirt. The bathroom is half the size of the ginormous bedroom, and I remind myself that this isn't even the master-suite, where Evan is staying. The one area that's off limits apparently. I don't ask, a guy can have his private sanctuary, I'll respect that. The shower jets are massive, amazing things that feel damned good. I wish I could stay in longer, but I only wash my hair as quickly as I possibly can. I was glad that Evan, or whoever had last been in the room had left shampoo, conditioner, and a thing of something called Infusion d'Iris in the bathroom. I use it, not caring that it's ritzy stuff. My hair can take a break from my normal cheap shampoo and conditioner, and my skin can try a ritzy shower gel. It seems nice, at least.

It only takes fifteen minutes to shower and get dressed. I take five to blow-dry my hair, a luxury I don't normally let myself have. I don't even know how my hair will react to being blow-dried anymore. I check my phone and find a text from Lizzie telling me that she's going to make me a sub, if I tell her what I want. I text her back, telling her I want a Philly cheesesteak on Italian bread, if there was the materials for that, if not, I'd just take whatever, so long as it wasn't turkey. I was sick of turkey, since that was the only type of sandwich I could ever find quickly at the only grocery store close enough to go to during my lunch breaks back at the school. I twist the strands of my hair quickly and easily into what, according to the internet when I looked it up a few months ago, was called a side French braid bun, before putting my inside-the-waistband holster on and slide my Springfield into it, after making sure it was loaded, and the safety was on, a bullet already chambered, besides the ones loaded carefully into the clip. I pull a pair of Converse that I bought, some sort of boot, outsider, or something like that.

By the time I had grabbed my satchel and a pair of Ray-Ban aviators, it had been the half hour I'd requested. Lizzie was waiting with a plate at the bottom of the stairs and a smoothie.

"Here, drink, eat," Lizzie ordered, grabbing my satchel from me and dropping it onto one of the leather couches.

"Alright," I mumble through a mouthful of Philly cheesesteak goodness. "Did you have any trouble finding stuff in the kitchen?" I asked between bites, as I looked at the temperature gauge and realized I'd need to run back upstairs to get a jacket to go over the hoodie, or just change to a different jacket entirely.

"Nope, Evan showed me where to find stuff. He texted. He's on his way." Lizzie looked well-rested, and happy. "This place is so cool. We're living where _Bruce Wayne_ lived at one point."

"Big whoop," I mutter, before turning back to finish scarfing down my sub.

"Oh come on," Lizzie flops down on one of the couches and looks at me with a begging look. "Don't be such a spoil-sport. I get a day to relax and then it's going to be crazy."

"It's not going to be all fun and games for me either you goose," I point out, as I finish the sub in record time. My metabolism is going to hate me for that, as is my digestion, but I want to brush my teeth before we go, although I can deal with having smoothie on my teeth, I don't want to end up making any first impressions with pastrami in my teeth or anything. "I've got to show up tomorrow with you and then I've got my own interview that I've got to deal with."

"I've got interviews and group sessions all day tomorrow, and I've got to make a good impression all around and I'm PANICKING!" She shrieks, putting her head back on the decorative pillow and sighed heavily. "I'm considering asking Evan if he knows a salon where I can go get my hair done and all of that so that I'll look better."

"Don't," I put the plate and glass down on the decorative table and sit next to her. "Lizzie, you're here because of who you are inside. If what's on the outside is more important than who you are, then you shouldn't be here."

"Promise?" She looks at me, looking for all intents and purposes like a child who is lost and confused. "Because I'm scared."

I hug her, "of course." I reach over and take another sip of my smoothie. "This is delicious, by the way."

"You should have tasted Evan's cooking." She snitches the abandoned crust of my sandwich and eats it. "Also, there's pastrami between your front teeth."

"Shit," I mutter, covering my mouth reflexively. "Lemme go take care of that, I need to get a different jacket also."

"Hurry. He'll be here any minute now."  
I race up the stairs, leaving my satchel downstairs, hoping that she won't look in it and find the clips. I still don't know why Lizzie isn't comfortable around guns—she and I only started getting really close when the whole business about the internship, and I just don't feel quite comfortable asking her yet. I brush my teeth quickly, and rip off the sweatshirt, careful not to mess up my hair. Easier said than done, but I'm not trying to impress anyone. I just grab the pea-coat I was wearing last night and put it on, grabbing the sweatshirt for if I get too warm. By the time I get downstairs, Evan is waiting, dressed impeccably well in another pair of jeans and a plain t-shirt, hidden underneath a jacket and scarf.

"Ready sleepy?" He said, with a smile in his eyes, a smirk on his face. "I know Lizzie's ready, she's waiting by the elevator." My satchel is over his shoulder and the way he looks up at me makes me think for a moment that I'm like some sort of belle at a ball. I shake the thought from my mind and just nod.

"Yeah, I'm ready. You know, she's really panicking about tomorrow and the whole thing with the internship. She was telling me on the plane that she's scared of the CEO."

He laughed, in a good-natured way, but still laughed. "She shouldn't worry about meeting Fox. She should worry more about all the other interns. They can be evil."

"Like the upper classmen to the freshmen?" I make the connection easily, as I take the satchel from him. He doesn't like guns, and I don't care why, I just am going to make sure that he doesn't have to deal with my stuff.

"Sort of." He looked at me quizzically. "Can I be a gentleman for one tiny bit and carry that? I know it's probably doubling as your purse, but…"  
"It's got some stuff for something in there…" I remain cryptic, as Lizzie comes within hearing range as we approach the elevator.

"Got it," he nods in understanding. "Come on Lizzie, let's show you Gotham."  
"Yes!" She squeals in happiness.

Four hours later, Evan drops me off in front of an unmarked brick building. I look at him quizzically and he gestures to the satchel sitting at my feet. I'm in the back, letting Lizzie taking in more of the sights. I'd paid attention, but at the same time, I'd been immersed in my own thoughts. "We'll be back in half an hour to forty minutes." He hands me a credit card. "See if he'll let you pay it off early while you're at it. I've got something I want to show Lizzie."

Lizzie looks at the building quizzically. "Pay what off Leah?"  
"Just an old friendly loan," I lie, not wanting to tell her I got a speeding ticket. I had gone on such a rant about people speeding that I knew I'd never live up to the fact that I got a speeding ticket. "I'm visiting an acquaintance." I sling my satchel over my shoulder and get out of the Maserati. "Enjoy." I'm curious as to what Evan has to show Lizzie, but then it's probably something he's concocted to get her to not wonder what exactly I'm up to. I wave as they drive off, Evan driving a bit faster than he probably should in front of what must be MCU. The Commissioner said I had to wait five working days. It hasn't even been one, so I just put the piece of plastic in the back-pocket of my jeans and start to walk into the brick building. I should probably do something different with my gun, but I just pull out the permit and hope I won't get myself shot.

The building on the outside doesn't scream police, not since the changes made since the maniac blew it up. Once I walk inside though, it's obvious that I've walked into a hub of activity, as an alarm beeps at me and I hold up my permit. "Sorry sorry sorry!" I shriek as the woman at the desk stands up, hand on her gun. I hold my other hand up. "Commissioner Gordon said to come in and I didn't think about protocols."

"Stand down Jill," Commissioner Gordon emerged from upstairs, carrying a file. "Ms. Warner, I'm surprised to see you here."  
"Evan just dropped me off. He suggested I try to pay off that ticket, but I'll wait like the rest of the world does." I keep my hands up, still holding the paper. The woman, Jill, sits back down and resumes her work.

"Sensible of you, thanks for not being a spoiled rich brat about things." He smiles, in a friendly manner. "Why don't you come up to my office?"

"Alright, can I put my hands down now" I say, returning the smile. He nods back in return and I let my arms drop to my sides, still not moving suddenly, and being cautious. I'm surrounded by the people considered to be the true elite of Gotham police department. I'd rather not have Lizzie and Evan return to find me bullet-riddled.

"Cadet? Can you bring me up a 349 and a 624?" The commissioner is addressing a kid around Lizzie's age whose crisp uniform bears the modified patch of a junior cadet program. "I'll be in my office. Knock first."  
The kid nods and turns sharply on glossy tactical boots, and I wonder what his story is, why he seems so determined and focused, and what he thinks of MCU. MCU has a sketchy reputation, which is why the idea of MCU as the elite of GCPD always made me wonder.

I follow Gordon up to his office and sit in the chair across from his desk. "I've got my gun, it's sort of concealed on my person. Can I get it out?"

"Sure, by all means." He nods, and I notice his hand straying towards his own waist, where his own weapon is no doubt concealed.

I draw my Springfield and hand it to him, and he relaxes. "Precautions, I understand." I hand him the registration papers also and I wonder if I'll really be here for as long as Evan said he'd be gone.

"So, I'm sorry, but this is going to take a while. The Dawes Act and all. I've asked Blake to get the forms and if you don't mind, I'd like him to stay and help out, so that he can learn how to do this. He's one of the most promising cadets we have."

"How old is he?" I ask, "Sorry if it's out of line. I'm a teacher, so I'm just…curious I suppose."

"It's fine. He's sixteen, almost seventeen I think. Cadets with the program aren't normally allowed here at MCU, but I just…he's had a hard life, and he's so determined to succeed. I suppose I've just taken a liking to him."

"I hope things work out for him." I smile, feeling slightly awkward. "So, does Evan have a lot of speeding tickets?"

"Actually," the man looks awkward. "I'd never seen Mr. Branson until last night. I'd heard of him purchasing Wayne's penthouse. He's a bit of a shadowy figure on the edges of Gotham's social scene for the past month or so. Supposedly he's an old friend of Wayne's."

"Interesting. He's just helping me and a student with finances for the Wayne Enterprises internship program. My student made the final round and she's an orphan, and well, her eighteenth birthday is today."

"Well, best of luck to her," Gordon says with a smile. "I hope my kids do well…" He seems sad for a moment, then there's a knock at the door. "Come in."

"Sir, I've got the forms you requested. Do you need anything else?" Blake stands at attention as best he can holding a stack of papers about an inch thick. Dios mios.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I'd like you to observe so you can help. I'm trying to get permission to have cadets trained in the more mundane new forms that we've got swamping us."

_Bruce's POV_

"Can you keep a secret?" I ask Lizzie, hoping that I was doing the right thing.

"Sure." She smiled at me. "You have no idea the secrets held within this head." She points at her forehead and gives me a curious, patient look. "Although, you said to stay out of this part of town, then you bring me down here."

I look around the shipping yard, full of containers and nod my head. "Yeah, well, I have a confession to make."

"You're a serial killer and you've got an axe waiting for my head? Because that would be bad considering you just dropped Auntie Leah off at MCU." At my look of surprise she smirks. "Remember, the guide book you bought me? It lists MCU's address."

"Oh, right." I open up the cargo container. "I'm about to show you my office, and I'm not a serial killer. I'm just, a guy who wants to be normal."  
She follows me inside and looks around at the small office and all the binders, each labeled carefully. "So….." she turns three hundred and sixty degrees then looks back at me, straightens, and holds out her hand. "Elizabeth James."

I take a deep breath. "Bruce Wayne. It's a pleasure to meet you Miss James. I'm going to have to put in a good word for you with Lucius."


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: *insert standard disclaimer here* I don't own anything but the general plot, Leah, and Lizzie. All other stuff belongs to whoever owns it legally, down to the movies I reference. **

**This is probably my last update for a few days, unless one of my classes, which is currently in limbo, is cancelled. **

_Bruce's POV_

"Now that we're done goofing off, what the fuck is this place?" Lizzie demanded, as she looked at all the spread out corporate files with the Wayne Enterprises logo smeared all over them. "What is this, a confession that you're a corporate spy?"

I pause, flabbergasted. She didn't believe me. She could see the evidence, and she didn't believe me. "No." I race through my mind, trying to think of a reason why I'd have all this. "Like I said, Wayne's a friend. I do his work for him. He's in Aruba or Ibiza, or God, I have no fucking clue." He's right here in front of you, and he's begging for a normal life, and this, trying to come clean so that he doesn't have to lie to more people, just doesn't even work.

"Okay." She picks up one of the more recent financial reports that I printed out. "You want to tell me why you're showing this to me?"

"I just thought you might want to get a head-start on everyone else," I lie through my teeth, knowing that Lucius is going to rip me a new one, even if I was once Batman, if he finds out that I'm fucking up his precious system. Why can't he just have a normal internship application process like the rest of the companies and just get enough that if one screws up he can let them go easily and have a replacement.

"Really?" She looks at me curiously, before turning to start looking at the figures. "If we get caught…"

"I can guarantee we won't. I have electronic copies on my laptop. You can look at them in the evenings when you get back. Just keep what you learn here separate, for use only after they hand you out the redacted copies." I look at my watch. "We have about ten minutes before we need to head back to get Leah."

"Are you going to let Leah know we're doing this?" Lizzie sits down at my desk, and I sit in a chair meant for waiting, watching her as she starts to devour the information. I didn't meant to do this, but it's the only comeback I can think of.

"Would she be okay? She is a teacher after all." I hope that that's enough to keep Leah out of this. I don't want to get too many people in trouble. "I'll give you a USB with the files on it, just give it back to me every night."

"Alright," she murmurs, as she pulls a pad of paper out of her purse and starts taking notes. "You mind?"  
"No." I put the keys on the desk. "Lock-up after you're done. Watch the clock. I'll be in the car. I'll call you if someone starts to come from Wayne Enterprises. They shouldn't. This is Wayne and my meeting place, since my employment as his work flunky isn't above board. He motors in from the Palisades when he wants to see me, like he's some sort of fucking drug lord." I should keep things simple, but I can't help it.

"Alright," she pulls out her phone, swipes a few things and then holds it up, showing a timer set for ten minutes, already counting down. "I'll come out when this is off. We should be fine."

I nod and walk out of the room, back out into the chilly air. I look towards the field of containers where I know the bat bunker rests, with all the stuff from the days I spent as Batman. I know I can never be Batman again, and I don't want to, but the temptation to go see what was there, and look at the memories is a vivid presence. I resist it and just sit in the Maserati, flipping through the guidebook that Lizzie had left there. I laugh at some of the more interesting descriptions. Curiosity drives me to the palisades and I find my house there.

"_Closed to the public, the Wayne Manor is one of the most interesting landmarks in the palisades, given that it was burnt down by its owner, Bruce Wayne, in a drunken stupor shortly after his mysterious return from the dead. The house was rebuilt exactly as it was originally, and sine Wayne shut himself up in there following the reign of the Joker over Gotham, many Gothamites refer to the manor as the Wayne mausoleum."_

I don't have a reaction that I can describe. I don't care what they think of me. I don't even know who I am anymore, so what is here, on the printed page, about Bruce Wayne, the eccentric billionaire playboy, has a detached feeling. I sit there, the book open, until someone knocks on the door next to me. I turn and make sure it's Lizzie, taking the time to shut the book and put it back on the other side of the car before unlocking the door.

"You get enough to get you started?" I ask, playing the role that I made for myself, even though it disgusts me on the inside. I'm helping a girl who wants to do things on her own, based on her own merit.

"Yeah," she takes a deep shaky breath. "I got enough. I'm not going to look at this anymore. You're obviously not a hundred percent comfortable with this, you just want me to do my best and succeed."

"Yeah," it's the first thing that's not even partially a lie that I've said to her concerning the matter.

"Listen," she picks up the guide book and flips to the restaurant section, to the back pages where all the expensive restaurants are. "You know all the elite snob ways right?"

"Yesss?" The confusion must have been apparent on my face, because she laughed.

"See if you can get some reservations at one of these places. It's my birthday, we'll call it a birthday dinner. Teach me."

"Is Leah coming?" I'm worried about going to a public restaurant, for obvious reasons. "Or is it just the two of us?"

"I think it'd be good if Auntie Leah learned to. She won't admit it, but she's a bit terrified." Lizzie shrugged. "What about this place? It's got a ritzy rating but it's apparently only popular with tourists."

"What's the name?" I try not to sound too desperate. The ones that are popular with tourists are the ones where your last name and social standing aren't closely examined before you're seated, so that the normal people can get there.

"Milliway's."

I've heard of the place. No one likes going there because the name sounds like that of a pub or something." I smile, hoping it doesn't seem too much like a Cheshire grin. "Dial the number for me and hand me the phone. I'll get reservations while we drive."

"Sweet," Lizzie dials the number quickly and I'm talking to the manager before we're even out of the shipping lot. I don't pull any of my normal stunts, just tell him I'll pay for a table in a back corner for a small party of three. I put the reservation under Branson, feeling proud of myself for being able to be as normal as I possibly could with all these lies. But then again, I had no fucking clue what real normal life was like. I'm still living in a penthouse, and it's not like I have a real job or anything.

"So," Lizzie gave me a smile that reminded me of Leah's when she'd come up with a particularly hellraising idea back in college. "You do realize you haven't shown us the Palisades yet and you did promise to teach me to drive. It is my birthday after all." Shit. Remind me not to make promises when I'm tired and nervous as hell.


	12. Chapter 12

**AN: I'm back, and my hiatus was not due to my negotiating a deal to buy the rights to anything. I don't own anything new, except some new syllabuses and directions for term papers. Yay. Correction for earlier that I will fix when I have a chance—Bruce's car is actually a Quattroporte V8. It bugs me that I forgot to fix that. It's short, but it's all that the plot bunnies would provide in the time I had to give them.**

_Leah's POV_

The dry cleaning was all neatly hung up on a rack in the foyer when we reentered the penthouse. I looked at Evan startled and he shrugged.

"I had them deliver it here. I hope you don't mind too much. I just thought it'd be quicker that way. I'm surprised its' already here actually." He glances at the tall clock and then shrugs. "Eh, it makes sense."

Lizzie was already at the rack, flipping through the items, separating hers from mine quickly and efficiently. A few items hung on the rack that looked like they must belong to Evan, or else someone else's dry-cleaning was here. "They look nice."  
"Best in town," Evan bragged, grabbing the clothes that appeared to be his. "I'm going to go take care of some work before it's time to go to dinner." He starts to head up the stairs and then turns around. "Leah, were there any problems at the station? I forgot to ask."

"There weren't asshole. You would have already have heard from me if there were." I snap, grabbing my stuff in my arms and shoving forcefully past him. "I'll be in my room until it's time to go. Lizzie, you can knock if you need anything." I say nothing to Evan, wanting him to just leave me alone for now. I don't have any memory of him being such an ass, but then, it has been practically a decade after all.

"Sorry," he mutters, as he walks past me in the hallway, where I'm trying to open my door and not drop any of my stuff, or wrinkle up the freshly pressed items. He reaches past me and opens the door. "Be mad if you want, but there."

The slight gentlemanly move doesn't soften my anger, it increases it. I slam the door shut with my foot and storm to the closet to hang everything up. I pause for a moment before standing by one of the many wall to floor windows and staring out over the skyline. I've seen a few cityscapes in my time, but this one, somehow it was different. It was tall and majestic, oozing rich corporations and all that a cityscape stood for, but there was an underlying hardness. Maybe it was just me portraying what I knew about Gotham from the news onto what I saw, maybe it was the little bit of the Narrows that I'd seen.

I took off my shoes and socks and let my feet dig into the comfortable white shag carpet and embrace the softness. I picked up the book I'd borrowed last night and curled up on the loveseat, trying to forget about the nagging feeling in my gut that I was missing something in plain sight, and when I found out, I was going to be mad at myself for a long time.

"Auntie Leah? You alright?" Lizzie called from outside the door, an hour later. "I want your help."

"Come in," I called, closing the book and looking at the clock, reminding myself of what time our reservation was and what time Evan had said we needed to leave for this Milliway's place. Lizzie entered, carrying a pale blue dress that I remember her buying as a "just in case dress" and her cosmetics bag. "You need help getting ready?"

"I'm nervous." She said, hanging up the dress on a handy hook.

"So am I," I confess, "I'm also just...feeling something's off."

Lizzie looked nervous. "Everything seems fine to me. Also, can you please not take that gun with you tonight? It makes me nervous and it _is _my birthday after all."  
I pull the gun out of it's holster and set it on the coffee table next to my book. "Alright." I'm not extremely comfortable with the idea, but maybe the constant presence of the gun, not something I was used to, was what was feeling so off. "Now, I'm guessing you're expecting to doll me up for tonight?"

She smirked. "It's my birthday." The sing-song tone of hers spelled trouble, but I didn't argue. She was right, it was her birthday, and I ought to get used to wearing make-up for events.

"Alright," I acquiesce again. "But you've got to show me how to do it for myself. Lizzie nodded in response. Okay, I can do this. I really really think I can do this.

_Bruce's POV_

I got dressed at the last minute, hurriedly, deliberately choosing one of the shirts that didn't require cuff-links. Those things were evil, and I forgot to buy cuff-links on my shopping trip yesterday, so I don't have any that haven't already shown up in numerous pictures of me as, well, myself.

I was downstairs before the others were and I picked up a magazine that was sitting on the coffee table, something Lizzie had asked for, flipping through it with a quizzical eye, wondering how realistic this twigs were about what the female image really should be.

"Really reading that or are you flipping through it looking for new potential girlfriends for your pal?" Lizzie sits down next to me in a pale blue dress, with a dress coat already on, just not buttoned up. "Also, I'm in the backseat, no matter what Auntie Leah says. I want her up front. It won't look as funny that way."

"Funny?"  
"One hot guy, two decent looking girls." She says, rolling her eyes and taking her magazine out of my hands. "Also, Leah's cooled down a bit, but be a gentleman and if you think it's appropriate to make a comment, make it, if not, keep quiet." She gives me a simpering look. "And don't let the comment get to your head. You're waaay too old for me and so not my type."  
"Leah is wearing off on you." I point out simply, "although she's never called me hot."

A tentative clicking of heels on the stairs makes me look up, and I stand up, trying but failing to not let my jaw drop to the floor, or at least as far as it could without injuring myself and defying the way the human body works. Lizzie is making her way down in a black sequined dress, with one long sleeve, the other shoulder and arm bare. The skirt is full length, but close to her body, with a flaring out as the amount of excess fabric increased interrupted by a thigh-high slit on the left side. She has a white coat draped over one arm and a white clutch in hand, and her hair is up, curled even too. She's breathtaking. For a moment, I forget my depression, my thought of my lost chances. That is, until she stalks up, bitch-slaps me and then walks over to the elevator entrance.

"Coming?" Her voice is cold, but as smooth as honey.

"Of course we are," Lizzie said, with a laugh in her voice that I knew was her trying to let Leah know that Leah was going to ruin things if she kept up the attitude. "It is my birthday dinner after all."

I sigh and follow after the two of them, offering Lizzie one arm, which she took gently, like it was done in movies. I nodded approval at her and we followed Lizzie. I offered her my other arm and she took it after releasing a deep sigh. I think Lizzie glared at her from my other side, but I may or may not have been distracted by the realization that Leah couldn't possibly have her gun hidden in that dress, or in the size of clutch she carried. Definitely gonna hit the gym tomorrow, I need to be able to do a bit more than dial nine-one-one and cross my fingers that muscle memory will work even when my muscles are severely deteriorated.


	13. Chapter 13

**AN: I only own Leah, Lizzie, and any other characters that can't be found in the wiki for Batman, whatever verse you're discussing.**

**I know I'm updating less often and they're all really short, but I say—enviro bio is a pain, as is poly sci. (No offense to those of differing opinions.) **

_Leah's POV_

"Hello. I'm Elizabeth James; I'm here for the interviews." Lizzie's voice was confident, not showing the nervousness that had consumed her until we'd stepped into the elevator with the other arrivals in the parking garage of Wayne Enterprises.

"Of course, everyone is today." The receptionist sneers, and I wonder how Lizzie is handling it mentally. "Gimme your id." Lizzie complied with only a slight fumble and the woman handed it back along with an electronic signing pad. "Sign here."

She signed and then handed it back.

"Alright," the woman handed her a thick packet with a clipboard and then waved her off. "Next."

I approach her, feeling nervous in my business attire and a pair of Louboutin kitten heels that clacked neatly on the floor of the impressive foyer. Lizzie has moved off to where security guards are corralling, and I mean corralling, the prospective interns. "Leah Warner. I'm one of the adults with the intern program interviews." I hand her my driver's license before she asks for it, having figured out the routine while waiting in line. I sign the pad promptly, without having to be told, and she looks at me impressed. "You're a high school teacher, but you seem like an old pro."

"Business major. Went to shit." I mutter under my breath, taking the security access card she offered me before I walked away; Lizzie's must have been in her packet, since she's now wearing one. The adults are separated from the herd of fifty applicants.

Two groups of fifty stood on opposite sides of the lobby. There were employees circling around the intern candidates. Some of them were engaging the intern students. It was an international crowd, and I tried to see if I could guess which languages I was hearing. I definitely heard Russian, and I definitely heard Asian languages. Lizzie was talking to a shy timid African-American girl, smiling and laughing. They were flipping through the packet together, and I hoped that Lizzie was relaxing somewhat from the tense demeanor she was. I looked at the sheet of paper I'd been given, and rolled my eyes casually. All it said was that we'd be brought up to Lucius Fox's office for a personal interview with the man, before the group interviews, of ten of us at a time in front of the board. It also stated that the weird process was just Fox's way of making sure that only the very best were hired for the internship, considering it was after all a _paid _interview.

"Leah Warner, as I live and breathe," purred a familiar oily voice from behind me. I took a deep sigh before turning around.

"Jed Collins. Why am I not surprised that a sleaze-ball like you would be here waiting to try to snatch up such a prestigious addition to your already faked resume of accomplishments. Who's the patsy this time?" The man was a teacher I'd met a conference. I force my head not to remember the details, but I'd been the target of his con that time, and that was the last relationship, or, in all actuality, pseudo-relationship, that I'd tried to have ever. The name of his game was lying and cheating his way to the prestige that would bring him recognition, and a book-deal. He fancied himself a novelist. I'd had the 'pleasure' of reading some of his work. I fight back the reaction to make my first impression by vomiting over the bastard's fancy suit.

"Such harsh words." The man has no dignity. "My student is a fine upstanding young man and he's got an inside track since he's friends with the son of one of the board members via a summer camp they attending last summer."  
"Big whup." I snap back. "I'm sure Mr. Fox has absolutely no intentions of letting anyone get by with that sort of advantages."

"The board is the final say, since it's a majority issue, with shares and all of that fancy stuff you decided was too confusing for you to finish your precious MBA." He leered.

I want to punch him out so horribly. "You have no clue. You just thought you could access wealth through me. Guess what? I still don't have those kinds of connections."

"What's up with the clothing then?"

"Ms. Warner? Could you come with me please?" A woman tapped me on the shoulder. "Mr. Fox wants to see you now please."

"Alright..."

"Jessica. I'm his personal assistant." She leads me away from Jed Collins and I turn around and smirk back at the bastard who was standing there with his jaw dropped. The few who had been called up had been brought up by flunkies. If Fox's personal assistant was fetching me, then I somehow had clout. I wouldn't ask questions until I was sure I'd done the best I could for Lizzie.

"Thanks for saving me from that..."

"Smug asshole?" Jessica smiled at me. "Mr. Fox is already aware of his character and is going to ban him from interviews. Including his student."

"I'm not going to pretend not to be extremely happy." I feel comfortable with her, her smile disarming my fears.

She laughed. "Mr. Fox is actually really interested in talking to you, so he sent me to get you and get you up there before the flunkies finish the first batch of interviewees through the grand tour that winds up using the stairs. This is actually the private elevator for the board members and Wayne when he chooses to show up."  
"How long has it been since he showed up?"  
"Since before Mr. Fox returned from his short sabbatical. Mr. Fox hasn't really clarified on what happened between him and Wayne." She sneered the word Wayne and I wondered if there was anyone in Gotham who wasn't entirely hating on Wayne. I mean, I myself was in the hating club, but still—I almost wanted to feel sorry for the man.

"Interesting." I smiled back at her. "So, any tips I can have access to along with this expedited trip?"

"You're doing fine. He actually will just ask some questions about your student I think. That is, if he goes by the script. Knowing Mr. Fox though, it won't be anything as to what the board interviews will be." She handed me a piece of paper that, after skimming, I realized was like a gag order. "There's a special position that changes every time the intern posts open up. Usually it's with a specific board member or one of the department heads and is a higher position than most other internships." She took the signed form back from me and checked to make sure I'd filled it out correctly. "This time, I'm going on vacation this summer, so one of the interns is going to be taking over my job for the summer."

"So you're saying that Lizzie is on the short-list, and I can't say a word to her or anyone else involved with the internship program?"

"Yes." Jessica gave me a sympathetic smile. "Mr. Fox let me look over the files and I think Elizabeth James is going to be a good fit. It's up to Mr. Fox and the board though."

"Thanks Jessica." I mean it. I mean every word of it.

"Your welcome. Now, here we are." She announced. I adjusted my blouse and my jacket and then nodded at her. I'm ready to go, back in the black business attire, although I am wearing a dark navy silk blouse instead of a black blouse. Evan had stared me down on that matter and practically hovered over me while I changed, even choosing the damn blouse for me out of my closet. His words echoed in my ear-_"you're not trying to be Batgirl Leah_." I'd rolled my eyes and changed, but I'd decided that I was done being angry at him for now, because of the help he'd been to us.

The office was spacious, with a view to kill for, but the furniture was simplistic. A secretary's desk sat outside a small office lined with books where a man that I knew was the CEO of Wayne Enterprises sat waiting. He stood as he saw us enter and came out to greet us. "Jessica, thank you. Ms. Warner, I'm sorry if this has caused any problems for you."

_Bruce's POV_

"Hey Alfred, no need to call me back. I'm just calling to let you know everything is going fine. I've managed to make breakfast twice and we've eaten out the rest of the time. I'm actually about to hit a gym on the border with the Narrows as incognito as I can. Don't worry. I just want to feel stronger and more capable. I've lost my abs. I miss you. Bruce." I left the rather weird voice mail quickly, and strongly, and then pocketed the cellphone into the pocket of the black track-pants I'd found among the clothes I'd purchased. I was already wearing a white t-shirt that showed the few muscles that I still possessed, so I just slung my leather jacket over my shoulders after stuffing my iPod into the pocket, grabbing my keys off the coffee table as I breezed past it. I steeled myself for what, a year ago, would have been a light warm-up to be the pitiful extent of how far I could work out. I just needed to do something, work off some steam. Not to mention that I really didn't feel comfortable not knowing for sure that I could defend myself any further than using muscle memory that hadn't been utilized or backed up by keeping up my strength in a year or so.

As I rode down the elevator in silence, I wondered if Alfred was just letting me have space, or if he was too busy wherever he was. Admittedly I wasn't exactly sure at all what he was doing, which was rather bad. I hit my head against the wall when I realized I'd forgotten my help. I hit the up button and rode back up, making myself start trying to analyze defensive options. I'd gone soft in my year off. Alfred—this is why I never took a vacation, alright?

I think back to how Leah had looked last night. I had told myself, back when it was just she was going to be in Gotham for this thing that I wasn't going to try to restart the relationship that had died in it's fledgling stages upon my return to Gotham, because it would probably just be a rebound after Rachel's death, and I knew I'd feel like shit after, but I couldn't help acknowledging the fact that it was a tempting idea.

I made it to the gym half an hour later, after speeding rather excessively through the back streets and alleyways of Gotham. Not entirely safe, but to try to motorcycle jack me at the speeds I was going was rather impressive. I got a trial membership under the name of Evan Branson, putting Leah on the trial with me only so that if she wanted to come here she could. I made a beeline for the locker rooms, putting my earbuds in and turning on my iPod. I shed my leather jacket and, with a bit of reluctance, my hoodie into a locker, and padlock it with one of the locks I had found in the penthouse panic room, from the cases for the suit. Thanks Lucius. I'll return it when I'm done.

The free-weights are calling to me, but I get on a treadmill first, water bottle setting carefully in the cup-holder, eyes focused on the television as the news reports start trickling in, all the crimes and the progress being reported with equal gusto, along with a brief side-note about the start of the Wayne Enterprises internship final round. I hope Lizzie and Leah are alright, then I tune out the rest of the world around me and crank up the settings. Time to get back in shape as best I can as quickly as I can. I'd rather not look so unimpressive in the mirror shirtless if Leah were to ever see me shirtless. I hit my forehead with my hand, facepalming, at the thought. When did I get so silly and superficial again?


	14. Chapter 14

_Bruce's POV_

"Hey." I greeted Lizzie as she stalked into the room, shoulders hunched, her heels in one hand, her feet red and irritated.

"I love these shoes." She collapses, folding herself into one of the chairs closest to the door. This one was a spinning circular chair that was large enough for two people, or more depending on how much of a dog pile one wanted to create, to sit or curl up in.

"Christian Louboutins?" I raise an eyebrow at her over my _Top Gear UK _magazine. "They aren't the most sensible for walking all over Wayne Enterprises."

"Shut up." She snips, grabbing a copy of _American Handgunners _off of the coffee table. "Thanks, by the way."  
"Your welcome." I'd felt like an ass and an idiot when I'd been trying to find a magazine Leah might like. Lizzie had been simple with her requests. Her requested feminine magazines were sitting on the coffee table in her room, like she'd also requested. Leah had just said to grab her something.

She read in silence for a few minutes and I was fully re-immersed in Richard Hammond's op-ed piece when she cleared her throat. "Sorry about last night." She hesitated what felt like another half a minute. "And for this afternoon."  
"Totally fine." I smirk at her, resisting the urge to give her a snide comment about her escapade at Wayne Enterprises.

"You're not gonna let it go are you?" She threw a pillow at me and I took it like a man to the face. Actually, it was more like my abs were so fucking sore I was considered ibuprofen. I tossed it back, feeling the pain in my deltoids and biceps and foreceps and all the ceps and oids and all of that. I swear I used to be more informed.

"Nope. I'm actually going to let it go." I deepen my smirk. "So, just don't be afraid to dream a little bit bigger darling."

The pillow pelting gets worse and I fire back with more pillows. It's been ages since I've had a pillow fight.

_Leah's POV_

Because of delays it isn't until four pm that I'm sitting in front of the select group of board members, Lizzie next to me. I had gone back to the penthouse to change shoes after having had to run away from security in order to avoid a shit-fest. I'd been given a curious eye by the front desk security guard, but it hadn't ended up in my being arrested for having tried to get into the R&D lab. Whoops. My bad. Lizzie had just rolled her eyes at me and given me a discreet thumbs up before she took her place next to me. Her packet had transformed into a neatly organized portfolio stashed in a discreet briefcase, and I had nodded my approval at her.

"Sorry for the delay." The oldest looking of the gentleman, "You must be Miss James?" He was addressing Lizzie.

"Yes, I am. I'd like to thank you for having me here Mr. Carter."

"We're glad to have you here," he responded. "Now, since we're running late, I don't want to beat around the bush."

"Of course you don't," muttered one of the other men.

"Now now," Mr. Carter murmured, before raising his voice back to his normal level, or at least his normal level so far. "Miss. James, what do you feel most prepares for you to be an intern here at Wayne Enterprises?"

It's rude of me, but I tuned out quite quickly. I'd rehearsed these types of questions with Lizzie for hours as we'd prepared to come here. Even in the car on the way here she'd been insisting I help her practice and fine-tune her answers. I thought back to my conversation with Mr. Fox instead. He'd said that Lizzie was on his short-list by her own actions, not because anyone had name dropped. Anyone who name-drops was off his list because he wanted genuine workers. I hadn't been able to breathe a word to Lizzie, because of my promises and the papers I'd signed, but I was content in knowing that I'd done my absolute best to give her her best chance at the best opportunity she could possibly have.

"Ms. Warner?" Mr. Carter's voice burst through my thoughts and I looked up.

"Yes?"

"Could you elaborate upon your opinion of Miss James' work ethic?"

"Lizzie, Miss James, is one of the best students I've ever had. She has a phenomenal work ethic. She's constantly asking if she can turn things in early, and they are done to the highest quality. She is always willing to spend that extra times she frees up helping others out." I simper through the questions he asks me, still floating around in my thoughts, not entirely focusing on what I was doing, instead focusing on what I wanted to do with my free time.

"Thank you for your time ladies," Mr. Carter said with a sickly politician-esque smile. "I look forward to seeing you at the intern candidates dinner tonight Miss James, and I look forward to seeing you at the teacher's luncheon tomorrow night."

I don't say anything to the man, but as soon as we're out of the room on the way to the public elevator I took the portfolio out of Lizzie's briefcase skillfully. "The schedule plans changed and they didn't feel like telling me?"

"Sorry?" She shrugged sheepishly. "I'll leave my schedule out so you can see where you need to be and when. I've got to get ready quickly for tonight."

"Yeah." My voice is bitter, and I don't really want to acknowledge the reason why. I hate being in the dark and being blindsided. I mean, I could have taken the time to check in with her and all that when I went back to the penthouse to kill time after the little escapade I had, but still...

"How's your day been? Mr. Fox seems like a really awesome man. Brilliant really. The stories about him cannot even cover a quarter of it." She chatters. "Oh, and I've made a friend already—her name is Amanda and I was hoping that maybe I could have her over later to work on a presentation if she makes it through the first round cuts tonight."

"Best of luck girl, I'm sure you'll make it." I give her a hug. "Now, let's go make you look awesome."

"Girls only?"  
"Girls only."  
The elevator is uninterrupted until the fortieth floor, when it dings, stops, and Jessica, of all people gets on. "Hello again," she says with a smile. "Mr. Fox wants to see you again Ms. Warner. Something about this afternoon?" She extends a hand to Lizzie. "Sorry—you must be Miss James. I'm Jessica, Mr. Fox's personal assistant."

"I need Aunt Leah to give me a ride home."

To her credit, Jessica didn't phase a moment. "Is it okay if I give you a ride? I can help you get ready if you need to?"

Lizzie licks her lips, as if she's nervous about something. "Sure. I'll have to give our host a call to let him know that I'm bringing company."

"Alright," Jessica said with a smile. She was already carrying her purse with her, along with a large fashionable tote bag full of paperwork. She was bringing her work home, and lots of it. She noticed my glare and shrugged as best she could under the load. "I've got to be there tonight, to help and act as a sort of a chaperone."

"Keep an eye on her for me, will you? I only just found out that they were separating things up." I hope she reads the look in my eyes saying I don't want her to lose any chances she has by fumbling something major up.

"I will." Jessica digs her car keys out of her purse and smiles at Lizzie, before hitting the thirty-fifth floor's button. "Mr. Fox is at the Java in the central courtyard on the thirty-fifth floor."

"Thanks." I ride in silence with the two of them, wondering what's going on and get off at the thirty-fifth floor. I text Evan as I get off, feeling I should let him know myself what's up.

Leah Warner: Hey Evan, I'm staying longer. Jessica, Mr. Fox's assistant is giving Lizzie a ride and helping her get ready. You good with that?

He texts back almost immediately as I turn the corner into the central courtyard.

Evan Branson: That's fine. I'm not there. Actually...hey. Get yourself something to drink and a pastry or sandwich if you want and then come join us. I recommend the smoked turkey chipotle if you want a sandwich.

I look up bewildered, and then I see him, in a business suit, sitting at a corner table with Mr. Fox, the look on his face as he looks at me indescribably attractive, and I can see why there are quite a few secretaries and copy assistants and so on looking at him from a distance. I get in the queue for the drinks and keep my eyes on Evan, soaking in that look that, for lack of a better description, reminded me of what Lizzie called eye-fucking and what I described, more accurately, as a sultry, sexy, attractive look that makes something leap in my stomach, but at the same time, it has this you can't get me because of who I am quality to it that makes me wonder. That is, it makes me wonder until I find myself at the head of the queue and the equally distracted barista is smiling at me with a conspiratorial look on her face. "This is the first time anyone has seen him in quite some time, and he's not even here officially, apparently. Mr. Fox, when they were here ordering, said it was a just a meeting between friends for a bit of housekeeping and that he wasn't really here. We almost didn't recognize him, but it is him alright. But oh my gosh—I actually got to take Bruce Wayne's coffee order!" She squeed, like any fan girl. "He sure seems interested in you."  
"What? That's Bruce Wayne?" I'd seen pictures of Wayne before, when I'd had to deal with someone incorporating him into a report, but I didn't really follow the Gotham social circle, and Wayne Enterprises, while a major international player, was a corporation that I didn't spend night and day stalking. I had never really paid attention to the whole Bruce Wayne diatribes before. Now, I feel like I should take the barista's marker and write guilible on my forehead in capital letters. I feel like an ass.

"Yeah it is. Absolutely positive. He paid so I got to swipe his card because the scanner didn't want to read it. What can I get you?"

"Smoked turkey chipotle sandwich on the roll it comes on, yes I want it toasted, and whatever a dark chocolate caramel mocha frappe, largest size you have, two extra shots of espresso, whatever your darkest roast is. Leah Warner." I slide my card through rapidly and sign the little electronic thing before stalking over to the table where "Evan" and Mr. Fox were sitting. The bastard had the decency to go back to his conversation with Mr. Fox, and I hated interrupting them, well, only the CEO, but I had a beef to deal with.

"You bastard!" I hissed, slapping him. "I'm sorry Mr. Fox, but I'm not sure if you've met Evan Branson, my college flatmate?"

"Ummmmm." "Evan" tries to interject into my rant.  
"Oh wait," I continue, before he could continue. "I'm sorry Mr. Fox, but has Bruce Wayne been duping me?"  
"I believe Ms. Warner, that it's high time Mr. Wayne came clean to you. I now see why he was in such a hurry to get out of here before you came."  
"You fucking asshole!" I hissed, slapping Evan, Bruce, whoever he is, feeling peeved that he can just calmly take being bitch-slapped multiple times in a row without phasing.

"Yeah, I'm a fucking asshole, and I'm sorry."  
"Sorry is as sorry does." I keep hissing at him, glancing up to see the curious employees staring harder now. I can't help but want to stow my anger for later. Even if he is the notorious Bruce Wayne, Evan, yes, I'm still calling him Evan, looks so, well...I shut down the thoughts in my head before they can get too x-rated. Not good, not good at all. Especially after we agreed to just keep things on a friendly basis.

"What can I do Leah?" Evan asks, looking at me with those damn puppy dog eyes. "Tell you my darkest secrets?"  
"Bruce, are you sure that's wise?" Mr. Fox interjects, worried. "After all..."  
"He can do whatever he wants. Mr. Fox? I'll be ready to talk to you once he leaves. For now though, I don't want to be around him. Do you think you could recommend a hotel for me?" The mental pieces have all fallen into place and I don't know whether I'm more pissed with myself or with him.  
"Leah..."  
"Shut the fuck up Wayne." I punch him this time, open handed, for maximum effect, not hooking my arm, just going straight at his face, and I'm rewarded by a spurt of blood from his obviously broken nose. I haven't killed him, I made sure of that, but he's gonna have a broken nose and a hell of a shiner shortly. "I believe you have some blood on your Armani." I spun on the heel of the Prada heels I'd replaced my Louboutins with and stalked back to the pick-up counter for the cafe.

"The devil wears Prada it seems..." I hear him whisper, "I'm glad she didn't pull out her gun."  
"She's carrying a gun?"  
"Yeah. I guess I lucked out. I'm not wearing any armor."

What. The. Fuck.

**AN: Disclaimer still applies. Nothing has changed, except that I made up a name for some board member and gave Lizzie a friend to maybe go be with while I modify my plot. **

**This is rather disjointed, and if I have the time and the plot bunnies, I'll extend it. I'm shortening the title just because I'm not sure when or if I'm going to be able to add Walmart to the mix since this chapter throws my original plot-line to hell—the ending was just asking to be written in my current state of mind... I may even just remove this chapter to replace it, along with the other chapter I said I'd do that to. Also, if you've seen any of the pictures from the premiers of the Nolan movies, you've probably seen a version of the look I'm thinking of at one point or the other. If you don't understand, oh well—I'm not going to use the way I describe it in it's entirety. *end pointless author ramble***


	15. Chapter 15

_Leah's POV_

I sat on the bed gingerly. The place was a dump, but it was affordable until the events were over that I absolutely had to be here for, and then I could head back to the daily grind of teaching. I wanted to go back to school, finish my MBA and find a way to make my dreams come true, but I can't. Money, that ever present problem.

I couldn't return, in a hissy fit, the things I got in my spending spree all those days ago, but I wish I could. That lying bastard. I had left Lizzie an email telling her that I'd be around for the events, but I needed some space, coming up with a random reason why I didn't want to be around that bastard. Mr. Fox had convinced me that Lizzie would be better off staying put where she was, because of the stress of trying to not get cut from the program. He apparently had known about what was going, but I couldn't bring myself to be pissed at the man. He was courteous, and he apologized, even though he hadn't done anything wrong.

"Evan" aka "that bastard," however, was silent as a grave. He had my number, and if he gave a care, he could call, or text right? I angrily punch at the pillows, deciding that it'd be safer to strip the bed and just use clothes for blankets and a few wadded up jackets for pillows. I can't do much about the state of the mattress, but knowing Gotham, there's probably been multiple murders committed here on the same mattress. And it's probably never been replaced or anything. I know there's a lot of environmental issues in Gotham, not to mention the world of being a cheapskate at these little dumps, but seriously—get a freaking clean mattress. Maybe every five murders or something?

I started fixing up the bed, ripping off sheets and dumping pillows on the floor, not caring where on the also unsanitary floor that it fell. Hey, it's a hotel! It's gonna be pretty nasty, even if its the Ritz or something. I know I probably won't get any sleep, but I need something to do before I go batty. I could go wander the streets, but this isn't the best area for that, considering that we're on the edge of the narrows and all. Where that bastard told us not to go no matter what.

My phone trilled at me, pinging, from where it sat on the tiny counter, where a microwave had sat before (or so it appeared) it had blown up. The phone said "Evan" and I made a mental note to change it to say "that bastard." I sighed, picking up my phone and unlocking it, opening messaging to look at his text. Of course, since it was just a text, it was harder to wade out the bull from It, but I wanted answers.

EVAN: I really am sorry. Try not to kill me, but can I come in to your humble abode? I'd like to explain things and I know you won't believe me except in person.

I hissed in displeasure and started to hunt for a shirt and a jacket. The room was a disaster zone, and so was my hastily repacked luggage. I couldn't find anything. I found my old Princeton sweatshirt ( I didn't even know I still had it much less that I packed it...is this even mine?) and threw it on over my bra, hoping I wouldn't get too cold. I wasn't having his royal ass in here. Do _not _want that kind of press thanks very much. I slid on my trusty Converse boots and then grabbed my purse and hotel key, before dashing out of the hotel room to where I'd parked the Maserati, hoping that he wouldn't come up and find exactly where I was. He must have tracked the car or something.

"Evan" was there, resplendent in a leather jacket, leaning against a Ducati, helmet in one hand. He looks absolutely...

Bad Leah. That bastard has been lying to you for years, you do NOT need to think about this.

"Hi." His greeting is simple, spartan, and it communicated plenty to me. It also got my mind off my initial thoughts. He was actually genuinely here to apologize, not to be obnoxious and he was nervous and on his guard about something—my reaction maybe.

"Hey," I pocketed my hotel key and started to reach for the car keys in my purse.

"Leave it," he said, reaching out and grabbing the car keys from where I'd been about to grab them. "You obviously don't want to talk here and bikes are the specialty in this area."

"And cars aren't? It's a Maserati." I point out, with a glare directed towards the dilapidated outside of the equally run down on the inside motel. "I don't see a second helmet either."

He pulls out a second, equally black helmet, holding it out towards me. "It is easier to get places on a motorcycle. Also, wasn't riding a Ducati on the list of things you wanted to do?"

I take a shaky breath and look at the Ducati. I want to ride it but... "I've never exactly ridden a motorcycle before."

He grins and holds the helmet out to me again, as he gets back on the bike. "Just get on the bike behind me and hold on tight. It isn't exactly made for two, but it shouldn't be too much of a problem."

"What about my purse?" I ask, wondering if I was trying to get out of it, or if I was genuinely worrying about that.

"Crap," he muttered. "Please tell me in all that stuff you splurged on with my credit card you bought a backpack."

I run back upstairs and grab the swiss army backpack with my laptop in it. I probably shouldn't leave that here, even if I did use "Evan"'s card to insure it with. I shoved my purse into the backpack as I headed back to where he waited, impatiently, the motorcycle already started.

"Good." He helped me onto the back of the bike, waiting for me to wrap my arms around his torso before continuing to talk. "Now just hold on, and you should be fine." As soon as he had finished saying that, he took off, squealing out of the parking lot. I'm a bit nervous about leaving the car and all my stuff, but hey, he pays for the insurance and replacements if it does. I glance at a speed limit sign as it blurs past, noting the numbers as thirty-five. I've always heard that everything seems faster on a motorcycle, but would thirty-five miles per hour really feel like a hundred miles per hour plus?

"How fast are we freaking going?" I holler, hoping that he can hear me.

"No need to yell," his voice crackles in my ear, and I can hear the self-righteous smirk in his tone. "There's a headset built in. I got bored and I usually use it like a bluetooth."

"Alright," I was mildly annoyed. Now I can't cuss him out and voice my thoughts out loud. Dammit. "So. How flippin' fast is this?"

He just laughed. Not a "that's hilarious" sort of laugh, but more of a villain in a Bond movie sort of laugh. "Relax. I usually go faster."

Bastard.

We stop outside the limits of Gotham by several miles, at a deserted, gated off beach, tucked into a small cove that seems private in nature. We had gotten faster once we were on the clifftop road we'd followed to get here, winding our perilous way here. I suppose that most people would kiss the ground, but I hesitated before getting off the bike, almost sad that the ride was over, but then, we did have to ride back, didn't we? I took off the black helmet and let my hair loose, from where it had just been shoved up, untied underneath the helmet. It moved gently in the light breeze, and I could faintly smell my shampoo from the shower I'd taken earlier. I was chilled from the ride, but I took a deep breath, letting the adrenaline continue to course through my veins from the thrill of the ride.

He parked the Ducati and climbed off gracefully, as practiced as one is in the art of getting out of bed. "How was that?" He said, with an impish grin as he took my helmet from me and stashed it along with his helmet next to the bike, before taking his leather jacket off and handing it to me.

I took it reluctantly, slipping it on and holding it tightly wrapped around me. "You still aven't answered my question and I asked first." It was petulant, but I was curious.

"Ticketable." He gave me the same grin plastered all over the tabloids when I'd googled him, except it seemed so much more genuine than those pictures.

"Thanks..." I trailed off, unsure what to call him. I knew him as Evan Branson, but I knew his real name was Bruce Wane now, so what now?

"Call me what you will," he pulled a six-pack case of cream soda out of the bushes, my favorite, holding it up with remembrance.

"Alright," I help myself to one of the cream sodas, twisting off the cap dexterously. "Thanks _bastard._. It was simply amazing."

I leave it up to him to decipher whether I'm referring to the cream soda or the break-neck paced ride.

"Hmmm." He led the way to the berm and than sat down on the sand, setting the case down on his right side, helping himself to one of the sodas, popping it open just as easily, if not more so, than me. "I need to explain myself to you Leah." He said, not taking a drink yet, just palming it back and forth between his hands. "I feel horrid."

"What did you mean you weren't wearing any armor?" I jump right to the question bugging me the most as I sit down next to him on his right side, with the case between us, accompanied only by the tenseness between us over the secrets we each keep.

"Can I start at the beginning please Leah?" He takes a sip now. He's nervous.

"You'd better answer that question." I glare at him angrily. "Here's your chance to become someone othr than just 'that bastard' to me."

"I deserve that though," he whispers softly, before looking out over the water quietly for a while, his face hard and set in stone. "Since you know my name, you know that I aw y parents were murdered in front of me. After the murderer was shot immediately being released, I disappeared."

I nod, nursing my cream soda carefully.

"When I came back, I already knew that some major shit was about to go down. I had been in a den of assassins pretty much, and had practically become one of them." He paused to take another drink of his soda and run a hand over his head. "I became two people upon my return. The playboy plastered all over the gossip rags, and the figure the public saw all over the crime columns and sometimes the headlines. Ever do the math on my return and other people's appearances and you'll see a correlation. I can't believe no one has seen it so far except one accountant that Fox buried in the bowels of the company for me, in an overseas position." He scoffed. "That's the arm—Gotham's most wanted. Public enemy number one.' He took another sip. "I was so lost. I still am. I thought I had a chance at a future with Rachel Dawes, but she hated the other guy. I didn't, no, I still don't know who I am. I don't want to be an asswipe player, but I don't have the ability to go back to working on saving Gotham from herself." He pauses, looking out over the water at the lights of Gotham again, and I can feel the anguish emanating out from him. "Not after what I did."

"Did you really?" I moved the case away, inching a tiny bit closer to him, unsure of what was going on in his head, and most importantly in his. I don't want to have to explain the suicide of Bruce Wayne or anything like that.

"No. I'm not a hero." His voice is thick with the weight of the emotions spilling through his thoughts. I have no clue entirely what they are—he is after all just giving me a quick summary of things. Things that, it seemed to me, were extremely hard for him to talk about, even think about probably. "So I took the fall."

I have no clue what I should say or what I can even say at the moment. The story of Bruce Wayne was a favorite for gossip rags, and occasionally even the regular news (Drunken Billionaire Burns Manor Down on Birthday anyone?), and so was the "antics" of the Batman. This was still brief, but I look at the man sitting next to me, on the sand, as a perfectly normal person, yet so full of emotions and mental problems that his chances at normality were limited to if he could find the right person to coax him out the funk he was so deep in. Finding a good psychologist would probably also be really beneficial for him too.

He's neither who I thought he was or who the world thought he was. And guess what? He had no clue who he was either. I slipped the leather jacket off, letting the real leather, designer jacket sit on the sand. I set my soda bottle, half-empty, back in the case carefully before putting my arms around him and just holding on to him as his emotions slowly flooded out of his tear ducts. Basically, I was holding a grown man, aka Bruce Wayne, aka the Batman, while he cried his heart out. Small tear shaped patches of water slowly soaked into my sweatshirt, and the breeze around us turned into a wind, but we just sat there, silently, as he let out at least a fraction of the pent-up emotions in his soul, and I felt myself let of my hatred and disgust, not pitying him, but merely understanding.

After a long time, he pulled back for a second, wiping his face quickly with the sleeve of his t-shirt, before hugging me back. This time, it was my turn to just relax, but without tears. I bury my face in his shoulder and he buries his face in my hair, along my neck. The soda sat forgotten, sand getting into our open bottles from the wind. The tension was gone, what remained was an understanding, tentative, but it's existence a promise.

**AN: I still do not own anything Batman related other than my blu-ray boxed edition of the Nolan trilogy, along with my original characters. I've already started the next chapter. It should be up by Tuesday. **


	16. Chapter 16

**AN:** **In the time that I've been gone, I have not acquired anything new, so the same disclaimer as the previous, what is it, fifteen? chapters applies. This is short, but it's all I had/have. **

_Bruce's POV_

I held out the frozen spoon to Leah with a half-smile. "This will help. I've got experience."

She smiled at me, taking the spoon from me and holding it beneath her eyes. "Not surprised. How long do I do this? I don't have that much time before the lunch."  
"Until it isn't cold. There's a second spoon for your other eye, can you get it or do you want some help?"  
"Help would be nice." she whispers, "but not with this. It's my hair really. I don't know what to do with it."

"What are you wearing?" I ask, taking in her wet hair that's laying down over her back,soaking through the shirt she's wearing that she borrowed claiming she didn't have a bathrobe and didn't want to get dressed and muss anything up. I didn't mind, it was, however, a bit distracting. I felt a pang as the thought that, if I hadn't ruined everything with becoming Batman, it could be Rachel. I shake my head, forcing the thoughts out of my head as I hand Leah the second spoon, which she holds deftly to her other eye.

"I'm not sure Bruce." She sits down on the bar stool I'd dragged into here, and puts her head in her hands the best she can while holding two of the spoons from the good dinnerware set to her eyes. "You can look through the closet if you want. It's a formal business luncheon."

"Blimey," I mumble. I'm not an expert in woman's clothing. Every time I bought something for a female, it was chosen by Alfred, who had called a friend of his who worked as a fashion consultant. I tried to remember the last formal luncheon I'd gone to and what my date had worn, along with the other people. I flip through her dresses, feeling almost frantic. They're all brand new, the latest fashions, and the eclectic mix of them is uniquely Leah. I pull out my phone and scroll through my contacts, looking for someone that I can trust to contact about this. Lucius' assistant, Jessica, is on the list, but I don't feel comfortable asking her, after she apparently had to help Leah last night so much. There's no one else, and I just can't; I open up the internet app and pull up the fashion section of the Gotham Gazette. I can't help but hope that I can find something here. I click into the hot or not section, and find pictures of some society chicks that are labeled winners that "stepped out" for lunches. I flip even faster through the dresses Leah had hung up, for a second time. I find a gray plaid dress and a red dress that look like they might work fashion-wise and I grab a pair of shoes that looked like they might work with either dress.

"Bruce?" Her voice was strained and worried, and I regretted begging her to relax for just a bit longer before starting to get ready.

"I'm here," I announced after taking a deep breath. "I've got two options and a pair of shoes."

"Alright. Do you know someone who can do my hair for me last minute?"  
"I'm already on it," I tell the half-truth as I open up youtube and try to find a tutorial for the hair-style I vaguely remember my mom wearing, once upon a time, to a luncheon. It's one of the few vivid memories I still have of them besides the moments before their death. I shudder momentarily and then find what I was looking for and start pawing through Leah's things, looking for what the thing says I'll need, putting headphones in so she won't panic. "Just relax, I'm gonna do your hair." I start twisting her hair up, putting it into clips, as the suppose stylist instructed on the video. It slowly took shape into a braided, twisted mass that, since I was fighting to do it with my own two hands, and I wasn't the type of guy who was good at this sort of thing, I found to be quite nice. She took the spoons off her eyes suddenly, when I was almost done.

"Alright. They've lost enough of their chill and it just feels weird." She reaches for a brush thingy attached to a vial of liquid, starting to dab it onto the skin beneath her eyes, then blending it with the same thing she used to apply it. The dark circles are barely noticeable, and she starts to apply other make-up to her face, hesitantly, and careful.

"It looks a lot better." I tell her the truth, then pause with her hair for long enough to reach down and hand her a tube of a dark red lipstick, deciding to choose for her and have her wear the sleeveless square-necked red dress. It would work better for her, as long as she gets one of those small black jacket things that don't entirely work most of the time people wear them. I think one of the models—Fifi or something like that—had called it a bolero one night.

"I hope so," she frets, as she turns this way and that so that she can see what I've done. "I like the hair. Thanks."  
"YouTube. It's awesome that way."  
"I'm going to tell everyone that Batman did my hair."  
A faint pang runs through my mind and I feel like screaming no. "Please don't," is all I say though, void and monotone. She gets it and her joking demeanor disappears, replaced in the course of her simple nod with a face that I find I've already named, in my head, Leah's game face. There's an easy truce between us, with only a little awkwardity as a result of the endings of last night/early this morning.

"Which dress?" She lets the shirt slip to the floor and I definitely feel something shifting as she stands there in just her underclothes, waiting to know which of the two dresses to slip into. "The red? The gray seems a bit too relaxed."

"Yeah." I shrug, hoping my lack of knowledge doesn't show up. I take the gray and go to put it back, as an excuse to get away from her in the state she's in. When I come back, she's in the dress, slipping on the shoes from where she once again sits on the stool, and I lean against the door frame, just taking in the sight of a beautiful woman, even if she's not the one in my dreams, haunting me. I wonder idly if Leah and Rachel would have gotten along, and I don't shove the though away, letting myself wallow in it to distract myself from the distraction of last night. "You ready? The Maserati is downstairs. The service got the tagging off of it already."

"That was fast," she murmured, standing up, fastening a plain simple locket around her neck. I recognize it as the one thing she still has of her parents that has good memories for her, and I smile.

"Yeah. I'm Bruce Wayne." I say it like my name is a curse word. I still don't know who I am, she and I just agreed. It's easier to be Bruce Wayne when the world already knows who that is. It's safest not to confuse them too, or so we agreed.

"Right." She rolls her eyes as she clips on a set of earrings that lurk in her hair, the gems twinkling, as she gives me a million-watt smile. "And I'm Leah Warner."

"Go get em." I toss her the keys and she nods, standing up. Her heels click as she walks past me, the smell of her breathing into me as she brushes past, a hand brushing my leg gently, smoothly, with an almost accidental feel, if it wasn't for the wink she gave me. Oh Leah...the things that you've started doing to me again.

She grabs one of those little jackets, long-sleeved and lace from the closet and slid it on. "Thanks for everything Bruce." She kisses my cheek, and picks up the clutch she'd already put all her stuff in while the spoons froze.

I stay there, leaning against the doorway, listening as she clicked and clacked out of the penthouse, her heels sounding like all the female executives I've run into over the years that were devoted only to their work. That was Leah. She may hate being a teacher now, because of how rotten her district and school is, but Leah is all about her job. I remind myself to start setting her up for school online somewhere, or maybe at a summer school program of some sort, after I get back from the gym. I pick my shirt up from off the floor where she left it after I hear the elevator leaving, putting it on the top of her bed, as a subtle hint. You can keep wearing my shirt Leah, I don't mind. Not at all.

I'm already wearing sweats, so I just grab a shirt and a hoodie, the same one that I wore when I was stalking Rachel, all that time ago. I wonder what happened to all those pictures, wanting just a tangible piece of Rachel to still hold onto, even though. Oh nevermind. I shove the thoughts out of my mind, simply glad that I'd been able to find a hoodie quickly, and grabbed my helmet from where I'd dumped it last night, along with the key. I took the elevator down a few floors, and then took the stairs to the basement, making myself sprint down them as fast as I could. Fitness Bruce, fitness, I tell myself as much as I can as my legs scream ten floors down from when I had started. I kept running, trying not to slow down, hoping no one else will emerge and catch me doing this, even if I do have my hood up. Let's hope the security cameras don't have to much of a hey-day either.


	17. Chapter 17

**AN: Standard disclaimer still applies. I'm considering just ending this story soon, because the plot bunnies are being finicky, and I'm staying up too late writing. Reviews, especially with opinions on if ending it soon would make anyone sad (especially if I just leave people hanging) are extremely welcome and make my day. Also, this is short, but that's because I'm trying to explain technology to technology aliens, aka people from the mid twentieth century. I swear, I bet I could explain technology to people from 1899 more easily! I leave it hanging for a reason. **

_Leah's POV_

I tied my wet hair up quickly, not caring what was going to happen to it if I didn't comb it or anything. I rolled my neck and analyzed my appearance in the mirror. The black t-shirt hugged my curves and I wondered if Leah would notice anything was up. My favorite pajama pants were soothing, promising me that I could curl up comfortably and just relax tonight instead of fussing with anything, or thinking about what happened yesterday and last night.

"Hey you," Leah stuck her head around the door, the stress from the day evident on her face. "Evan's got a pizza ready downstairs—you coming or are you crashing? Was the luncheon that bad?"

I shake my head. "No, I just was up too late last night."

She raises a curious eyebrow. "What the hell happened after I left with Jessica? Mr. Fox asked if you were okay even."

I spin and look at her curiously, panicking. What had the man said? I don't want to put Leah in the position of feeling like she has to withdraw because of Bruce.

"You look like you saw a ghost," Leah said as she entered the room, hanging up my towel for me as I threw my clothing in the laundry hamper. "I'm serious. What happened Auntie Leah? You okay?" Something was behind her eyes, some sort of questioning of something she knew that she was confused about. "You have to deal with Wayne himself or something? I heard a couple rumors.."

"Rumors about what?" I try to direct her questioning towards something else.

"Rumors that he showed up yesterday around the time Mr. Fox called you for a second meeting, an informal meeting." She gave me a smile. "Some rumors include 'one of the intern guardians' yelling at him. Who is Evan Branson, Leah?"

I look at her, unsure how to answer, because it isn't really my secret to share. "No one knows, not even Evan himself Leah."

She looks at me. "He showed me an office, with some papers. Gave me information about Wayne Enterprises. I'd have been eliminated if I hadn't known that information and been able to use it to my advantage."

I grab a lace jacket and slide my feet into a pair of black flats, heading towards the staircase, Leah trailing behind me. "And?"

"Is that espionage? He spun some tale about working for Wayne...I was tempted to ask Mr. Fox, but I just...didn't want to ruin my chances. This is my perfect set-up moment if I can succeed."

"You're going to succeed. You've got a guardian angel watching over you, waiting to swoop down and be a hero so that you can succeed." I promise her, knowing that in the past few days Leah has won a small foothold in the hard heart of Bruce Wayne. "So where's the pizza?" I raised my voice, smiling back at Leah, hoping that I was successfully communicating a promise to tell her sometime when we both weren't so tired.

"Come on," Leah said, taking the stairs two at a time, almost bounding down them. "Drinks are in the fridge," she pointed out as we entered the kitchen, where Bruce sat at the counter, devouring a slice of a simply delectable looking pizza with absolutely no trace of the posh manners I'm sure have been ingrained into him at birth. The left-over cream sodas sit on the counter, and I snag one quickly before sitting down next to Bruce and helping myself.

"No plates? Wow. Bold.." I catch a piece of sausage falling off my slice and throw it back on the slice. "Papa Murphy's too. Isn't there some hoity-toity take-out you could've gone to?"

"Yeah," he says through a bite of pizza, "but I wanted to try something more normal."  
I raise an eyebrow at him and smirk. "I can arrange a more normal experience for you."

"Tomorrow? How long does it take to arrange?"

I grin at him. "Leah?" I turn and she recognizes the glint in my eyes from when I'd had some sort of crazy scheme, or something that would make some people hate life. "You need anything from Wal-mart?"

Her eyes widened, as she swallowed the bite of pizza she had in her mouth and nodded. "I can think of a long list of stuff I'd like to have. He's paying right?"

"You gonna pay rich boy?" I tease him, subtly putting a coaxing hand on his lower back where Leah can't see it.

He gives me a startled look and then smiles. "Sure. What's Wal-mart?"

Leah and I exchanged a glance. This was going to be good.

_Bruce's POV_

Wal-mart. My first impression as I parked the Maserati was that I sure as hell better not come out and find my car scratched, dented, destroyed, demolished, totaled, or wrecked in any form or fashion. My second was how the hell can that building fit so many people. My third was that I hoped I didn't hit someone driving around in this insanity.

"Having fun in normality yet?" Lizzie smiled at me, which was more like an evil grin. What the hell did I do to her to deserve this?

"This is NORMAL?" I panic, as I shove the baseball cap lower over my forehead. "This is INSANE."

She just laughs. "I have the list. You're pushing the cart."

"Ummmm..."

"Come on," she slips an ear-bud into one of her eyes and turns something on on her iPod. Miraculously, I can hear the faint strains of Van Halen coming from the ear-bud she doesn't have in her eye. I snatch it and shove it in my ear, making her walk close to me. She gives me a glare. I smile back at her.

"I wanna listen to the Van Halen too," I whine, pretending to pout. She just shakes her head at me, as she pulls the extremely long list out of the purse she's carrying. Apparently we're also getting some more groceries here too. "How can I survive this insanity?"  
"Grow a set." She says with a grin. "Come on Bat-head."

Fucking hate that. What if someone from GCPD is here? Or is this...oh shit.


	18. Chapter 18

**AN: I own nothing new. Just my OC's. **

**Thanks to L van Am for pointing out what I thought might have happened. I WILL go back and fix the twisted up character names within the week. I want to say by the end of the weekend, but I make no set promises. Something tells me I have to study for a bio exam.**

_Leah's POV_

"Come on. This is a light time of day to be here." I took hold of the edge of the cart and pulled it along with me, urging his highness to keep inching his way through the crowds. We passed by the laid out plastic cases of cookies and muffins, with the fruit section on our other side, and I made a beeline for the make-up section. Lizzie and I both needed a few things and I wanted to find some lip-balm, and the special sunblock I have to use for my face if I don't want to have a major acne attack. I want to go back to that cove sometime during the day, just in order to get away from the city's smog for a bit again. Maybe on Monday or Tuesday.

"This is freaking me out. This is NORMAL?" He hissed at me under my breath, drawing up alongside me as I cut through the watches and the tiny jewelry section, holding my nose as I passed the perfume and cologne. "Don't like perfume or cologne?"

"Just certain ones and when they're all stinking up the same area," I mutter, finding the Rimmel make-up and hunting for the shade I was looking for, grabbing a couple bottles of the liquid concealer I used. "I like yours."

"Good," he picked up a tube of black lip-color and raised an eyebrow. "Ummm."  
I take it from him and on impulse drop it into the cart. "It's for certain styles." I dump the other things I'd grabbed, basically new make-up since the little make-up I'd brought on the plane had gotten a bit screwed up from the way I'd packed it. Whoops. I grab Lizzie's precious cover-girl make-up and then lead him out through the twisted angles of Wal-mart towards the next area on the list. "You okay?"

He almost looks a bit green around the gills, and I notice curiously a few things of black make-up that I didn't remember in the cart. "I'll be fine." He averts his eyes from a Wal-mart resident species and I smile faintly. Usually I feel a bit perturbed at how some people can have absolutely no clue how they're presenting themselves; this time though, I can't help but be a bit amused at Bruce's reactions.

"You don't look like it." I lean closer to him and act like I'm playfully shoving him. "Come on Batty, don't let a little normality bring you down. That'd be sad."

He punches me in the ribs and I double over, acting like I'm laughing but really covering for the bit of pain that I feel at the punch. "I'm not gonna be brought down by this." He pushes the cart into the aisle with the hair clips and the other hair related paraphernalia related to fixing it and tying up. "More bobby pins? How many do you need?"  
"A lot." I grabbed about ten fifty-packs of bobby pins and dump them in. "That hurt."  
"Wuss. You used to be stronger."

"You used to not know how to throw a punch." I point out the truth. "You're looking better, by the way."

He shugs. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Actually, why do you need make-up? I thought you said..." I can't believe I'm actually worried so much about him.

"I did, and I haven't changed my mind. I just...it was an impulse." He looks around at the insanity surrounding us as we move towards the electronics to get me a new case for my phone that will work better than the heavy-duty one I usually use for at the benefit tomorrow night. "I'd put it back but..."

"No, it's fine. Get it. I do kinda wanna see sometime."

He gives me a glare, then jumps slightly. "Shit. Change the subject. I think he's GCPD." He points with his hand quickly, using a military hand signal and I roll my eyes.

"Is that too many movies or you just being cute?" I emphasize cute so he knows I'm referring to his previously moonlighting (or was being Bruce Wayne moonlighting. Hmm.)

"It was this book I was reading last night actually. I'm being serious—it was this army combat manual thing I found in the library. Alfred must have..."  
"Fancy seeing you here Mr. Wayne. I'd like to thank you and Wayne Enterprises for the benefit you're hosting tomorrow night for the GCPD." Comissioner Gordon had snuck up behind Bruce, and I had decided not to say anything. The way Bruce jumped was worth it.

"Oh, your welcome. I'm really glad the board thought it a good idea." Bruce looks around, worried someone overheard and realized that Bruce Wayne was brushing shoulders with the common people. Especially anybody who'd get my picture in the papers. I pulled my cap lower down over my face, feeling a bit grumpy. "It was Lucius' brainchild actually, I just got actively involved in matters recently, and the fundraiser was set. Don't thank me, as a result." He smiled at Commissoner Gordon and shook the man's proffered hand.

"Any luck with the Batman?" I mimic a Gotham accent, basing it on the barista's voice from the other day.

"Ah..." Commissioner Gordon hesitates and I notice a slight pained look cross his face. It doesn't miss Bruce's notice either, because Bruce gives me a look. "No, not really. He hasn't been around, unfortunately."

"Bruce? Can you take the shopping list and continue?" I hand him the list and he walks off, still giving me the look. Once he's out of earshot I turn back to the commissioner. "Sorry about that. I'm sure you probably don't remember me, but I'm Leah Warner. I just wanted to thank you for explaining things nicely to me and taking the time out of your schedule to personally take care of paperwork the other day. It meant a lot."

He looks startled. "Thanks. May I ask where the connection with Bruce Wayne occurred?"  
"He wanted to ask some questions concerning the internship program and how it works to someone on the inside. Evan Branson volunteered me."

"I'm not an idiot, Ms. Warner."

"I understand sir. I went to Princeton for a time sir." I give him a sheepish smile. "We were lab partners for a semester, right before the business with Chill and Bruce's disappearance."

Commissioner Gordon nodded. "Be careful Ms. Warner, and if there's anything I or MCU can do for you, let me know. We're still busy, but it's relaxed considerably. Leaving me all the more time for the personal issues that have resulted from the horrible circumstances of..." he trails off. "I've got to get going. It was good to see you again."

I'll give the man credit. Even though the paper this morning spilled the news of his wife filling for divorce by taking off with their kids for an unknown location in the society columns, he's seeming to be holding strong, and he actually remembered me. I can tell when remembrance is genuine. I catch up with Bruce where he's pawing through the bargain DVDs.

"Really now rich boy?"

"I was trying to look normal?" He looks at me curiously. "What the fuck was that about?"

"Oh nothing," I shrug and continue on towards where the cases were. "Come on."

_Bruce's POV_

The Maserati lives. I opened the trunk and started loading the bags in, glad the two hour ordeal was over. "We still on for dinner tonight Leah?"

Leah turns and looks at me from where she's digging through the bags looking for a thing of apple-cider chap-stick she'd grabbed when we at the counter. "Sure. LBD right?"

"What?"

"Little black dress. Aha!" She finds the chap-stick successfully and rips the plastic off before putting some on.

I've probably already seen the dress, when I was hunting through her closet yesterday, but I can't help wonder what it looks like on her. Leah may want to just be friends, and I want to keep that, but the thing is, she's cheering me up, and Alfred last night, when I told him had made me start thinking. What if it was possible to move on enough to just have someone there for me, at least temporarily, while I get on my feet? What if Rachel...no...Rachel was where my chance at life began and ended. Alfred is wrong. I can't move on. Maybe I can have a fling or something, but I'll always be thinking of my failure. I load the last bag into the trunk, and slam the trunk shut after catching a glimpse of the stupid make-up I bought, thinking for a brief moment that maybe I can go back and just avoid where GCPD roams to help. I can't. I failed Rachel, and I failed at everything I was trying to stand for in the moment in time. "You drive please." I whisper, pressing the keys into Leah's hands as I turn to go put the cart up voluntarily. I hope the dinner tonight isn't a bad idea now.


	19. Chapter 19

**AN: Nope. Still haven't fixed things. I'm going to. I also don't own anything new related to this. Also, this kind of chapter comes from having a marathon of Flashpoint while writing and trying not to turn this into a ramble about tactical shtuff. Also, plot bunnies are telling me to circle the wagons and finish up within six or seven chapters (including this one), unless the plot runs off again.**

_Leah's POV_

I sat at the desk in my room, perfectly still, listening to the music coming from downstairs, from the open common room at the foot of the stairs. It was something classical-slow and mournful. It was a record—I'd watched him put it on, before laying back on one of the arm chairs, the look on his face telling me that he had closed himself off to the rest of the world, before I'd turned on the stairs and come back up. Everything had been going fine. Yeah, I was still pissed at him for the lies, but we'd made progress, he'd started to let me into his head. And then it happened.

"You okay?" Leah is at the door. "Amanda, this girl I know, she texted me to tell me that she'd seen you on the news, and that you were looking pretty...oh God...you should have gone to the ER or something..." She comes in and heads to the bathroom, bringing back a dark washcloth, and I knew it's to clean me up.

I don't tell her what had happened after I'd left the restaurant. I don't tell her how I'd been left by myself to face the GCPD. I don't tell her how, when I'd made it to the parking lot, having been dropped off six hours later, I found him, shirt and suit jacket bloody, his tie having been used as a tourniquet, raw, new stitches obvious on him. I don't tell her how I hid him and his mess, driving carefully to an all-night gas station where I bought him some clean clothes, so that we could somehow make it up here. I don't tell her how he was crying, non-stop, telling me he should have been able to do something. I don't tell her what those people looked like around me as they died. I don't tell her how I didn't have my gun, because I'd left it in the car, so I was helpless. I don't tell her how he begged me to never leave that gun he hated so much more than arm's length away from me. I don't tell her how I'd scheduled an appointment for a psychiatrist for this first time since I got back from my peace corps trip that went so wrong, all those years ago. I just tell her simply, "it's not mine."  
She wipes the blood off of me, the blood that I'd covered with my jacket, that I couldn't bring myself to clean off when I was at the station, my eyewitness testimony, knowing that I missed something that would be help bring those bastards to justice. Eyewitness testimony isn't all that reliable; I won't know until the announce it if they were able to find any of those crazy arses who opened fire. "You going to be okay or the charity ball tonight?"  
I sigh, unsure if I'll be able to get the sleep I'll need if I'm to deal with that. "I hope so. I just need to try to sleep." I don't tell her about the sleeping pills I'd be digging out to use for tonight. "Go check on Br...Evan...will you?"

"He's out like a light." She shrugged. "I'm leaving the record player on because I have honestly no clue how to work one."

"Probably a good idea." I take a deep breath and stand-up. My shoes, a cheapy pair from a dollar store that the GCPD persuaded to open for us, are already off, and I feel uncomfortable in the sweats and t-shirt scrounged up for me by a friendly officer. "How're things going?"

"I'm doing well, actually. The first list was emailed out with our instructions for the day and I'm in the top ten. Apparently Mr. Fox has me tagged for a special position?"

"Yeah, he mentioned it. Look, I hate to seem distant, but I need some space. So does Evan. Maybe you can go hang out with this Amanda?" I go to the body slowly, like a zombie, and I collapse on top of it. Screw covers.

"Alright. I've got to leave within the next half hour anyways. I did let the guy in charge of the group I'm in know that you were at the restaurant last night. I didn't mention Evan. I have a feeling he wasn't bullshitting me Tuesday."  
"What?" I open my eyes, wrenched awake.

"When you were dealing with the paperwork for your gun. He took me to this place, gave me access to Wayne Enterprises company files. Claimed he was Bruce Wayne." She chucks the cloth she used to clean me off in the laundry chute and gives a shrug. "Come to think of it...they do look a lot alike, except Evan is more real, the pain in his eyes isn't hooded."

"Something like that," I mutter, as sleep overtakes me. Surprisingly, I don't dream. Oh wait, I did pop that pill while she had her back turned, facing the laundry chute, dry-swallowing it. It works faster than I remember them working.

I wake up, the record off, having run out, the penthouse silent. I can hear someone downstairs, in the kitchen, only by virtue of how still it was, and because of the unique smell of burnt food. I get up, look down at the clothes and strip them off, grabbing my robe and slipping it on, not caring, tying my hair up into a loose, sloppy, disastrous bun at the nape of my neck as I dashed downstairs to see what was going on.

Bruce wasn't in the chair any longer, and a quick glance at a clock on the way to the kitchen told me it was five already. His back is to me, as he scrapes char-broiled lasagna into the disposal. He's changed; his hair is wet, and so I know he's been up a while.

"You need any help?" I ask, as I click off the smoke detector by clambering onto the island.

He whirls around and I see an open switchblade in his hand. "Oh...it's you." He takes a deep breath, then reaches up to help me down, being a gentleman for once and not looking at what I'm sure is showing. "I was trying to get some food ready for us. We need to eat more than will be served as appetizers."

I nod, and reach for the brillo pad. "I'll clean it up. You're too stubborn for your own good, so I'm guessing you're going to start over."

"Is Velveeta shells okay?" He holds the box up sheepishly, and I can see that he's in pain but hasn't taken anything, from the degree of studied wincing he's doing.

"Perfect," I set things down momentarily to hug him. "How are you?"

"I've been better. I've been worse." He looks at the paper sitting on the counter, headline glaring. "I can't fight crime anymore. Gotham has made it clear. I checked the news. Gordon already caught the guys. They don't need me." His voice is bitter. "No one really needs me. Wayne Enterprises is fine with Lucius at the helm, fending off the hungry jackals. Alfred, he's pissed at me. Rachel was my only chance." The fact that he's telling me this is major. It means a lot that he can open up; it also is the death knell to anything long-term except friendship.

"Psh. Lizzie got through things based on the stuff you leaked to her, the lessons you've taught her. I've had a chance to refocus myself, get an actual real vacation. Yeah, last night is going to haunt me for the rest of my life, but you did something. You also ran off, which I think is a felony, but that's a minor detail right?"

"Oh yeah," his voice is still bitter, but he at least favors me with a half smile. "I'm known for my love of wanton destruction of anything and everything."  
"Not to mention you hate guns yet your bike thingy from when you were Batman has guns." I smirk at his incredulous and pissed off look. "Just saying."  
The banter is cover. Neither of us truly wants to tell the other what's going on inside our minds. All I know is that Bruce Wayne needs help, and I'm his only choice. Shit. I knew I should have taken more than just introduction to Psychology and I shouldn't have just read through it.


	20. Chapter 20

Leah's POV

I took a glass of champagne from a waiter and downed it in one, handing it back to the waiter with an apologetic smile. "I was at the restaurant last night," I hiss under my breath. "Now act more professional, okay?"  
The waiter looks sufficiently scared, and I smile darkly to myself, surveying the crowd. Next to me, Bruce is sufficiently hidden from discovery by a clever disguise that he had concocted in the space of twenty minutes with Fox, just because he'd seen the look in my eyes, the look that told him that even though I was going to have a gun strapped to my thigh, easily accessible by the slit in my dress, that I needed something more than my gun as a security blanket. "Take it easy Leah," he whispered, as he took a tiny sip of his glass, barely lowering the level of the liquid, if at all. "You need to stay sober."  
"I am sober." I respond, looking through the mass of people for Lizzie. Apparently the interns took turns feeding information to various important people from Wayne Enterprises as they filtered through the crowds. Lizzie was currently walking just behind Lucius Fox himself, on their way up the stairs towards where Bruce and I were standing, Jessica nowhere to be found. I nudge Bruce and indicate the direction they were coming from. He just nods, and strides towards Lucius.  
"Mr. Fox, imagine seeing you here!" He calls out, and I wonder if Lizzie was briefed on who he was. She looks startled for a moment and then leans slightly towards Mr. Fox and whispers something in his ear. Apparently Fox's memory used to be so amazing he didn't need someone to do this, and he still can remember almost everyone, this is just for the internship trials.  
"Mr. Branson, this is a Wayne Enterprises function after all." Lucius' eyes twinkle with surprise. "I didn't imagine to see you present anywhere in the world for some time now, especially not here in Gotham."  
"I heard things were changing for the better finally, now that the Batman is out of the way." His voice is calm, not bitter and I catch Lucius' eye for a moment, just long enough to acknowledge that he too can see the tenseness in Bruce's posture as he says this. He's not the same player of charades that he once was.  
"Hey Lizzie, how's it going?" I ask, drawing her slightly away from the conversation to greet her, to let Bruce and Lucius Fox talk. I catch sight of Commissioner Gordon out of the corner of my eye, his gaze questioning.  
"I should be asking you that Auntie Leah," she look happy. "I'm in the final round for sure I think. At least, that's what gossip is."  
"You probably are kiddo, you've got a guardian angel watching over you through this," I hint. "I"m fine. Some sleep and some real food helped."  
"So Velveeta is real food?" Bruce slips up behind me and slides his arms around my waist gently, casually, keeping up with the charade. I was here as his date, not as Lizzie's teacher. I couldn't afford the price of a teacher's admission ticket. "I do apologize about the lasagna burning."  
"Well, that should be the headline tomorrow," Lucius Fox's voice is amused, and I wonder what passed between the two during Lizzie and my short interlude. "Come along Miss James, let's keep moving."  
The two wander off and Bruce offers his arm to me as he puts his still barely touched flute on a tray as it goes by and leads me down towards the dance floor. "May I have this dance?"  
"Your knee?"  
"It should be fine." He hisses at me. "I took some ibuprofen for once."  
I roll my eyes and plant a soft kiss on his exposed neck, keeping in character. "Darling, it can still give out on you even if you're on ibuprofen. Watch the alcohol."  
"I haven't had any." He smirked at me, and pulled me into a waltz. "Can you dance?"  
"No," I muttered, as he lead me around the dance floor, pulling me close enough to whisper the counts in my ear and have us still blend in with the swirling couples as the freaking Danube Waltz plays. "This isn't my scene. I only came for Lizzie."  
He nods sagely as he pulls back, having decided that my short lesson is over. I start to panic and he chuckles softly. "Come on-if I can quit brooding for a night, you can relax and enjoy yourself. It's crass, but forget about last night."  
"Your stitches..." I start to ask.  
"What stitches Ms. Warner?" Commissioner Gordon materializes beside the both of us and with a strongly implicating glare leads us off the dance floor towards a side room set up for conferences and business talks, and a bit of peace from Strauss. "Or should I be asking you Mr. Wayne?"  
He sighed. "It's Mr. Branson, Commissioner, I'm not really here, hence the hair and make-up."  
"You hide your identity remarkably well Mr..." he hestiated, "Branson."  
"Guys, please?" I half-whine as I sit down in a chair to rest my feet from these god-awful stiletto heels. They look at me with a sigh and sit down also. "He was with me last night and got grazed a bit. I told him to make a run for it. I can't ruin Lizzie's chances with the press I'd get for being with Bruce Wayne of all people."  
"And I'm only emerging to help Leah, repay an old college debt." Bruce flashes a charming, extremely fake smile. "I can come provide a statement if you need it..."  
"No, we got the bastards. They didn't surrender so they're in the morgue." Commissioner Gordon chuckles darkly. "I may be losing everything that was dear to me except my job and Gotham, but damn these new laws...I can get things done."  
"Thanks to the legacy of Harvey Dent," Bruce says, and I know the words are hard for him to get off of his chest, but he does it. "The crime scene? My blood may be there...you'll need a sample?"  
"Come in Monday morning to MCU. Why don't you come along Ms. Warner?" Commissioner Gordon stood up, and shook Bruce's hand and nodded at me. "Back to surviving this cacophany?"  
I hold a hand to my head. "I don't know. I've made my show of support...can we just go back to the penthouse?" I direct the last bit at Bruce, who nods, and helps me up.  
"Best of luck to you though Commissioner, and thanks for your hard work. I'll bring the fee for Leah's speeding ticket too."  
"Oh that!" Gordon nods and smiles. "I'd almost forgotten with this mess of last night. They were brought in thugs...if that means anything to you. The mafia trying to get a hold again in Gotham. I hope this is a deterrant, our response and the new measures brought up in the emergency session that met today. I've already signed a note of support." He shrugs. "I don't know why I'm telling you...perhaps because it's going public tomorrow morning, perhaps because, Ms. Warner, I've seen your resume."  
I gulp, and hope Bruce doesn't find out about my two year stint before becoming a teacher where I got the funds to keep myself out of bankruptcy and the hell that debt collectors can be. The two year stint where I got used to guns. "That was a long time ago, and one of the worst choices I've ever made."  
Commissioner Gordon nods. "But it helped you keep your head Ms. Warner, and that's a good thing."  
"Yeah..." I take Bruce's arm again and we walk out behind Gordon, with a smile at a couple old hags sitting near us. "I was at the restaurant..."I silence them, waving my trauma as a badge, knowing that if I sleep tonight that all the memories of my two years will come rushing back and it'll be hard to hide the shit of my appearance in the morning. Becoming an insomniac starts to be appealing to me. They titter and cluck expectantly and Bruce pulls me faster towards the exit, pulling his valet ticket out of his suit pocket, and the check for our coats.  
"Hurry up, she's had a rough 24 hours and she shouldn't have come here. Too much loyalty for her student." He isn't the arrogant arse he's supposed to be, but then, he's being someone other than the public persona he's used for the past two years.  
The valet looks at me, at my angry expression, at the pain in my eyes, at the goosebumps all over me and nods. "I saw her on TV this morning. I'll get you bumped around the queue."  
"I don't need the charity guys," I snapped.  
"Denial," Bruce mutters, as the coats are returned and he helps me into mine, before shrugging himself careful into his. "I'd love it if you were to skip us around the queue, but she's right...'  
"The car is already being brought around sir," the valet interrupts. "Mr. Fox told us specifically that if you asked for anything, to do everything you ask as promptly as possible."  
Bruce huffs, and takes the prooffered keys and slides into the car he'd rented for the evening-an Aston Martin. I had rolled my eyes, but he'd said we'd needed something to fly under the radar that still somehow okay enough to fit in for someone who had just bought Bruce Wayne's penthouse. He hadn't wanted to risk using the Maserati. "Thanks," he hands each of the guys he encounters a hundred dollar bill, flashing his cash. I hate the show of wealth. Loathe it.

The silence between us is still tense even as we enter the penthouse, and I throw my shoes into the trash, shoes that Bruce picks out of the trash, and takes up to my room, taking them into my closet and coming back out with a pair of flannel pyjama pants and a tank-top. "Here. Change into this." He unzips the back of my dress in a detached way that's completely void of emotion, and I realize, by the glaze of his eyes, that he probably took something a bit stronger than ibuprofen.  
"What did you take?" I asked him as I stepped out of the itchy black sequined material and let it drop to the floor. He picked it up and mechanically hung it up.  
"I'm not used to taking anti-inflammatories or things like this. It's just screwing with me," his voice has a strange tone to it. "Also, I'm just...confused right night...I've seen so much...but the sheer macabre..."  
"I worked in law enforcement, in a unit that I don't even know if it was legal, and the things I saw...I couldn't stay, even though I wanted to help." I pulled off my bra and slipped the tank top on, before I pulled on the pajama pants and then turned and looked at him. "Last night was horrible...the blood...it makes me think of what it must have been like at the lonely barricade, just after dawn, in the aftermath of that final assault."  
"Les Miserables. I know that one." He whispered, putting a hand to my cheek. "We both need more sleep Leah, but we're both going to see things we don't want to see when we close our eyes." He tosses my bra into the laundry bin and I wonder idly how often he's handled women's bras in the past, and I decide I don't want to know.  
"You have an idea? I was thinking getting drunk off my ass, but you can't do that since you took the meds." I wrap my arms around my shoulders, cold, and he drapes his wool coat around me, an old out of fashion coat, but still timelessly classic in the way a good full-length woolen coat can be.  
"This was my dad's," Bruce whispered reverently. "He told me not to be afraid, and I try not to be, but I am." He put an arm around me and led me out of the room, and down the hall, towards the door he'd said off limits. "I'm not trying to get in your pants, but the truth is Leah probably won't be home until the wee hours of the morning, and she won't notice, and if she does...she'll understand."  
"You want me to sleep with you? I'm liking the alcohol idea better." I don't really mean it. I had a lot of bad relationships right after I left the unit, not wanting to have to deal with sleeping alone ever. I don't drink a lot, and I don't plan to start tonight.  
"Having someone there to help you after a nightmare can be a good thing, you know that right?" He led me to a chair facing an impressive view of Gotham's skyline, and started to strip his top half.  
"Yeah, it helps," I admit softly, deciding that I really don't need to hide that I need someone here to help me, that I can trust him even though he lied to me for so long. "Just no sex, okay? That's what happened to me when everything went to hell after I quit the unit."  
'You..one night stands? I have a hard time with that."  
"It was a serious of short relationships," I whisper, taking in the sight of Bruce shirtless and wondering if maybe I spoke a bit too soon about the no sex rule.  
"Alright, I know the deal. I did the same thing when I discovered..."  
"Don't...just don't Bruce.." I look away as he continues to change, until he steps silently, stealthily, into my view, wearing a pair of pajama pants and no shirt. "You gonna put on a shirt?"  
"I don't sleep in a shirt..." He starts to head back towards his closet but I stand up quickly, the jacket staying behind on the chair, a memory of Bruce's that he let me in on, in something that feels like a secret.  
"It's okay...I like the view honestly," the champagne has loosened my tongue up a bit. Crap.  
"Alright..." He looked at the coat for a moment. "I miss them so much...I wish Alfred was here too..he'd know how to help better than this." He went to the cal-king sized bed and crawled in, before holding his arms out like a child wanting to be picked up and held. "Come here." His voice is suddenly a low growl, and it startles me, but I still crawl into the bed next to him, wrapping my arms around him.  
"This is all I need. Wake me up if you need to talk."  
"Only if you wake me up if you need me." He kisses my forehead. "Goodnight Leah."  
"Night Bruce."

**AN: Alright, still working on deciding if this is ending, or if I'm saying screw it all to trying to find an ending to put this back in NOlan-verse and continuing on through a slightly AU TDKR. Hence why this is just filler.**

**I don't own anything except my OC's, to include the standard disclaimers. **


	21. Chapter 21

Leah's POV

I woke up exactly the same way I had for the past week and one day, knowing that this Monday is more important than any of the other days. It's the final day of the program, it's been a little under the two weeks, but yesterday, an email had come that had sent Lizzie into a panic attack, dashing around, ironing and cancelling the movie night that we'd planned between the two of ourselves to work on furthering Bruce's movie education. In lieu of it, she'd had Amanda over to try on and compare outfits, swap clothing, and they'd fallen asleep at the table going over the notes for the final test they'd have to undergo this morning.  
I rolled over and hit the off button on the alarm clock, reaching across Bruce's sleeping body roughly to try to wake him up. It didn't work, just like every morning for the past week and a day. "Get up Bruce," I mutter, shaking him, hoping I don't have to resort to some of the tricks I have to resort to some of the more dangerous methods of waking him up. "You sleep through everything Bat-boy."  
"Don't call me that," he croaked, swatting at me gently with his eyes closed, almost coming into contact with my face, as I automatically shift out of reach. That was a non-drastic and dangerous method. He may not be in the same shape that he was in, according to what he tells me, but he's been spending several hours a day working out. I come along for the beginning of it, but I just can't keep up with his pace entirely. I do an hour, hour and a half, then I go shower down and head to the little used bookstore down the street from the equally hole-in-the-wall gym Bruce decided to join, even over using the stuff he's got here to train. He decided joining a gym was more normal or something. I don't question his choices, I just question my own choices.  
"Then wake up when the alarm goes off." I smirk at him from my place with the covers pulled up to my chin on my side of the bed. We still technically slept together, but it was more of on a stay on your own side and beware the wrath of the other if you don't basis, only crossing the lines if one of us had a nightmare.  
He opens his eyes slowly and sighs. "Yeah, that'd be good. But I'm liking getting a good night's sleep."  
I reach one arm out and grab my robe, before sitting up, quickly using my robe to hide my torso. I still can't believe I was so calm about stripping down to change in front of him that night.  
"You're really being that paranoid about me seeing you Leah? I've been sleeping in the same bed as you for eight days now. I haven't tried a damn thing." He pouts, petulantly, sitting up, his t-shirt stretching across his chest showing the newly starting to form, or I suppose, re-form muscles as he stretches.  
"Yeah. I am. Because I still fricking hate you for the lies Bruce." I stand up, and walk off, leaving the bed unmade, knowing it will be unmade when I see it again. Bruce doesn't do making beds.  
The floor is cold under my bare feet, but I don't care, as I dash to my room quickly, not wanting Bruce to catch me if he comes after me, like he does sometimes when I assert my anger at him is still boiling through my veins.I lock my door and go to my closet to grab clothes, not hearing the footsteps following this time. I grabbed a pale lake-blue dress and a pair of heels from the closet, before heading to the bathroom to shower and get ready. I have an hour and a half to get to Wayne Enterprises to be there to go with Lizzie to the luncheon were everything is announced. I turn the shower on warm and let the steam start to fog up the mirrors. I don't get why Bruce loves that bed so much. It makes my back hurt. I only stay there because it keeps the nightmares at bay.  
I strip off my clothes, dumping them in the laundry and step under the hot water, relief rolling over me that I'm managing to still keep a clear head even if I'm sleeping across a bed from Bruce Wayne every night now. Fuck the past.

I squeezed Lizzie's hand under the table we were sitted at, smiling across at the equally nervous Amanda, whose guardian had had to leave a few days ago because of a work emergency. Her mom was a lawyer, and one of her cases had come to trial faster than it was supposed to. "Hey you two, you made it this far, and from what I've heard on the grapevine, both of you are highly favored by the brass."  
"The brass?" Lizzie looked at me with an amused expression. "If you're going to go get your MBA, you're going to need to use the proper lingo Auntie Leah."  
Amanda laughed and nodded. "She's right Ms. Warner."  
"I know...I know. Evan is just doesn't like to use the terms when he's talking to me, telling me what's going on."  
"Evan...he's quite the mystery one. He was your date at the charity ball right?" Amanda took a demure sip of her virgin pina colada and I regretted not ordering something alcoholic.  
"Yeah. He was," I shrugged as Lucius Fox and several other board members walked up onto the dais and one of them tapped at the microphone.  
"Ahem." The room was silent quickly, and the hopes and dreams of the twenty interns still standing was so tensely written all over the room that a butter knife would slice through it like it was a machete. "My name is Mr. Charles as most of you know."  
A small titter of laughter ran through the room quicker than a wave gone wrong at a baseball game and Lizzie let go of my hand, crossing her fingers and keeping a calm face on, even though I had seen her about to bite her lip. Amanda on the other hand was a mess. I liked her well enough, and I had wanted Lizzie to have a friend in the program, but I wasn't sure if Amanda could have passed the stress test well enough with the obvious emotional distress like this.  
"The five winners have been chosen, and we thank all of you and invite you to stay for lunch, which is on the house for all participants and their accompanying guardians. I turn you now over to Lucius Fox, who will announce the winners. Please come up on the dais when your name is called so that we can get group photos."  
Lucius took the place of the aggravating Mr. Charles and shuffled through a few notecards slowly, stalling, with a friendly, but sly smile on his face. I looked around and saw variations of Lizzie and Amanda's behaviors all over the room and I looked at the executives in detail, wondering if they knew anything about Bruce's actions, or if they even gave a damn. I doubted any of them really did, except Lucius Fox.  
"Thank you for being here, and I want to thank each and everyone of you who have been here at any stage of the process, even those watching this as the video we put up on our website. Without further ado, the following four will be assigned to the departments they are best suited for: Jenna Mallory, Kyle Braddock, Sam Harris, and Amanda Jacoby."  
Amanda looked ecstatic at the two of us and then composed herself quickly and practically floated up to the dais to shake the hands of the executives after the other three that were called, posing for a picture before Lucius Fox cleared his throat and continued.  
"The fifth winner, is a young lady of impressive skill and poise, whose story is one of detemination and impressive accomplishments. She will be serving as my personal assistant, helping my secretary and myself, in a position that is only offered, to use a bit of vernacular,once in a blue moon. While I congratulate Ms. Malory, Mr. Braddock, Mr. Harris and Miss Jacoby equally, I extend special congratulations to Miss Elizabeth James." He smiled at our table as Lizzie hugged me quickly and then stood up and walked briskly, full of professional mettle to the dais, shaking hands efficiently, thanking everyone and only smiling as she shook Lucius Fox's hand and he leaned down and whispered something in her ear.  
I was proud of my student, practically my niece. She'd done it, on her own steam, with a bit of help from her guardian angel as Bruce referred to himself when it came to the tiny bits of extra information on Wayne Enterprise she'd provided. I pulled my phone out from my clutch discreetly under the table and opened messaging.

Leah Warner: She did it.

Evan Branson: I knew she would. Fox wouldn't tell me, but I had a gut feeling. I'm at the gym.

I wrinkled my nose. For some reason he was still Evan Branson in my contacts. I thought for a moment and then realized that it made sense not to have Bruce Wayne listed in my contacts.

Leah Warner: You're insane, you know that?

Evan Branson: So I've heard. Tell her I say congrats okay, unless you want to wait until I can say so in person.

Leah Warner: I think that'd be best. I hate you.

Evan Branson: I don't hate you.

Leah Warner: Eff you.

I put my phone back in my clutch and pull out the slim camera I'd gotten and snap a couple pictures of Lizzie and Amanda, knowing Amanda's mom will want some pictures. I may have had some shitty experiences here in Gotham, and with another week here, I'll probably have some more, but it's worth it to see Lizzie so happy. She's achieved step one of her dreams, and there's no stopping her, not with the determination and the resume, not to mention the probability of her getting hired on by Wayne Enterprsies and provided with the financial backing she needs for college. She's achieving what I couldn't.

**AN: I don't own anything but my original characters. There's three chapters left at most of this the way it's planned, and since the plot bunnies are just cuddling up and saying do whatever, we don't care, it should stay that way. Review if you feel like it, because that's the virtual chocolate of the website.**


	22. Chapter 22

**AN: Has it been on the news that a FanFiction author bought the rights to Batman? K then, I don't own any of this but my original characters.**

Leah's POV

I picked at the spaghtetti on my plate aimlessly. Lizzie was talking animatedly with Bruce about the details of her internship. I had had to cop up to her, not wanting to keep it secret, that I'd already known about the fact that she pretty much had been on the list from the get go for the position. She hadn't been mad; she'd even gone so far as to say she was grateful that I'd kept my promises and hadn't renegged on the papers I'd signed. Especially, she'd pointed out, since she'd just signed the paperwork binding her to her internship on live television.  
I tuned out the idle banter between my two companions and instead focused on trying to piece together what I was feeling inside. I loathed Bruce. I hated the lies he'd told me. Yet, because of what I'd learned about him from when he had been posing as the rich but not a stuck up arrogant famous playboy Evan Branson. I should have known, from the moment I first met him.  
"Hey, you there? I was curious if the sauce had enough seasoning? I tried to make it myself out of a plain thing of sauce. This recipe I found on this website. I got bored." Bruce waved a hand in front of my face, and I wondered just how much of his Batman abilities he still retained, or had gotten back in the course of a couple of weeks. The tempation to try to kick his ass for interrupting my thoughts hovers there, the impulse to move on the tip of my tongue. I don't act on it, I just take a tiny bite and wait to answer until I've swallowed.  
"It's okay." I mutter, than push the plate away from me. "Look, I'm not hungry. Congrats Lizzie. I'll be in my room." I stood up, taking my glass of lemonade with me, walking sedately out of the room, not wanting to be caught in the desperation of how confused my mind was. Everything I had ever tried to hide in my past seemed to spill forwards-the semester with Evan at Princeton, the shit with my sister Emma, the failed attempt at law enforcement, and then what I always thought of as my walk of shame, so to speak, to become a teacher at that shitty school in that run down district. I've had emails from students, saying that I inspired them, and I responded back with the typical "you inspire me too" bullshit, but has anyone ever really inspired me? Is there a point to this?  
By the time I hit the stairs, I'm running, not caring if either Lizzie or Bruce has followed me, as I come to the trip here, telling myself it was the help Lizzie, when really it was the hope that the semester with Evan would all be explained and resolved. Instead, everything's been confused. I hate him, he lied to me, I slept with him again the night he told me the truth, and than after that, I've had this wierd I hate you, but we're friends with a truce between us. He's made it clear-he's consumed by his feelings for his childhood friend, who just happens to be dead. Anything between us is a fling, or a rebound. I don't want to be that, but I don't have the time or the mindset to be able to mantain a long term relationship. Probably the reason why I don't date, I don't have relationships, I just have myself and the occaisional occurance when I hit a bar or go on vacation for a three day weekend.  
I lock my door and drag the desk chair over to prop under the door handle to prevent entry, before stripping off the dress I hadn't changed out of yet, and going to the closet for a slip to wear to bed, an old habit that I haven't indulged in in a long time.  
It's only six pm. I haven't done much except support Lizzie, and go with her friend Amanda to the airport, because Amanda had to leave, almost as soon as the ink was dry on her internship contract papers. Lizzie had been sad to see her go, but she'd explained on the way back that Amanda had a few activities she had to get back to, otherwise she'd lose some of her positions or something like that. I had tuned it out, as I started to get lost in my head, trying to decide what to do.  
We were here until Saturday. I need to decide now, before it's too late. I'm not tired, and I know that I'll probably have nightmares if I don't have the steady sounds of Bruce's breathing and heart to lull me into a false sense of security. It's only false because it doesn't laugh. I had, over the course of the time I've been here, found each and every weapon he'd hidden. I'd cried when I'd found the first one. A man who didn't like being near guns, who hated guns, knowing he wasn't at his best, doing his best to protect his guests, making sure that everything was okay, in a city trying to clean itself up, but without the best chances.  
"Shit," I whisper, sitting on the bed, covers pulled back, knees pulled to my chest, tears coming down. I realize now that I only came here to Gotham because of the allure of a mysterious person I knew for a few months, that I wanted to see if had survived the test of time. He hadn't. He was a different person, someone I could connect to even more, and it broke my heart, but I knew what my answer had to be. There would never been anything more than what there was right now between Bruce Wayne and I. Someday, maybe, I could tell my story, maybe make some money off of it, but did I have the mindset to do that?  
No, I didn't. I was too loyal. My views had even changed about Bruce, about the Batman, since I'd heard his reasoning. I cared for the bastard, but not enough to uproot myself and come here, to stay close and be a secret in the dark, a woman in the shadows for when he had time. Sure, he was done traipsing around as the Batman, but those years, that elusive happy idyll with Rachel, he would never forget it. He would always have it in the front of his brain, and I would be second. I looked at the Springfield where it sat, where I'd dropped it when I'd come back here and kicked off my heels. I had never mentioned to Bruce that I'd found the guns, because he'd looked at me once, and I'd known he knew it, as I was sitting at the dining table cleaning my gun after a trip to a range in the more my style neighborhoods.  
"Aunt Leah?" Lizzie's voice comes from the hall. "You okay?"  
"Yeah," I make my voice as steady as possible. "Just thinking"  
"Alright. I'm going to go out for ice cream with the rest of the interns who are still here. They're picking me up in one of those soccor mom cabs."  
I knew intuitively that there was a shrug at the end of her statement. "Thanks. Make sure Evan knows." I wonder if I'll be able to tell Lizzie who Evan is before someone else tells her. I wonder if she knows and just doesn't care. I wonder too much. I wait until her footsteps pad off and I can hear Bruce calling out a goodbye to her and a reminder about something to do with getting home, before I grab a short kimono-esque robe and remove the chair from the door, putting it back where it goes. I don't fasten the robe, I just hold it shut tightly around me, wondering if it's a stupid idea what I'm having.  
I haven't made up my mind yet when he knocks at the door, and then I hear the clicking of the lock and he enters.  
"I'm sorry if you really didn't want me to come in but..."  
"No, it's fine." I step back to let him in, not very startled, only mildly so. "I was about to come tell you I wanted to talk to you."  
"About us? Because sleeping in the same bed every night...we need to talk Leah, seriously." He comes in, casual in jeans and a t-shirt, no shoes, nothing fancy about him, just a plain and simple guy, with hooded eyes hiding secrets that few can even come close to guessing at.  
"We should probably start with the night you confessed everything to me." I pad over to where a couple of chairs sit, and curl up in one, holding out a hand to indicate he should sit in the other, which he does. "That's when we slept together."  
He hesitates for a moment, starting to run his hands through hair not long enough to comply with the gesture. "...yeah...I don't regret that, so if you're expecting me to say that..."  
"I"m not expecting anything except for you to always long to be back on the streets at night, fighting for Gotham. She's beautiful, when you look closely and get to know her, if you want to ignore the stats and the history." I smiled grimly. "I'm not expecting you to give up on Rachel either. I'm just someone in between, someone from the past that you're trying to use to find normality."  
"Use." He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "I suppose I am using you Leah, aren't I?"  
"Answer it for yourself Bruce. I'm only expecting for me to make a choice in the next few minutes on how the last few days of my time here is going to go." I let the robe slide open, letting him know what's on the table. He looks, of course he does, but he looks up quicker than I'd expected.  
"Leah...don't do anything you'll regret please. I'm going to regret using you like this, I already do. I regret the fact that when the truth comes out, no matter where Lizzie is, shit is going to rain down on her. I only hope Lucius can do something to prevent it from ending her career somehow, because she's the kind of girl who could end up as a CEO. You could have too, back in the day. Me? I was never cut out for it."  
"You choose your own path Bruce. You chose Batman. I chose, in the long run, to be a nobody, a history teacher who people say inspires them, who people say is the best teacher ever." I try to keep a stiff upper lip, to not put all my cards on the table, but who am I kidding? "What happens now is going to decide whether I'm in here, or in your room still Bruce."  
"It feels almost like I'm betraying Rachel, but..." He trails off, and I know he's weighing two sides of a puzzle. The man who wanted to be loyal to the dead woman that he says he loved dearly, as the only one who held a future for him, or, the side I want to win, the man who feels that the dead ADA is his only chance at a solid future, but for a few days, wants the sex and the companionship, and the love, just long enough to carry him through until he can choose for sure what he wants in his life. "I've got so many choices in front of me Leah. Recluse, fake death and live normally-real normally, or reemerge, and act like all this shit is beyond me."  
"I'm not going to tell you what to do Bruce," I whispered, leaning in and kissing him on the corner of his mouth, before getting up and walking to where the dress was dumped on the floor, picking it up and going to hang it up. "But I'm leaving and I'm not coming back when Lizzie and my flight is scheduled to leave. No delays, no promises of visits. I may come see Lizzie, but I will not see you, and if I do, I won't know you."  
He's there in the door of the closet when I turn around, and I know he's decided by the look in his eyes. I flick off the light in the closet and take the outstretched hand, knowing in the back of my head that deciding to have a short little bit of a fling or an affair, whatever you want to call it, while being responsible for a student, on a school function of sorts, isn't the best of ideas, but it's what's happening.  
He doesn't kiss me until we're in his room, and he's shut the door, not locking it, because Lizzie respects his privacy. "I'd say I love you, but I love Rachel Leah." He whispers, so close his lips are mere centimeters from mine. "If things were different, I'd say I love you with a clear conscience, but I owe my heart to someone else, this is just the bit of my heart you still have from that semester, all those years ago."  
I smile, and look into his eyes. "I don't need love Bruce. I just need this. Closure. Finally." It's a bit fucked up, but it works, and he kisses me then, and I realize something I didn't realize in the frantic beach scene we'd made that one night. Somehow, over the years, through all he's gone through, he still kisses exactly the same way he did at college. Experienced seeming, but with an edge of unpracticed, unused hesitation that's endearing. I feel his arms around me and wonder if, in that if things were different world we're thinking of, that this could be the end of my day regularly, safe in the arms that were once those of a crime fighting bat. I resist the urge to snort a laugh, instead opening my lips and letting his tongue slip in, before shutting my mind off, ignoring rationality, and losing myself in the thing that was occuring.

Bruce's POV

I hugged Lizzie and smiled sadly at her. "I'm getting transferred to Geneva," I start the ending of my lies to Lizzie. "I won't be around. I'm selling the penthouse back to Wayne, because I don't need that big of a place. The three of us were rattling around it, I don't know about just me."  
She nods, smiling back happily. "Hey, it was good knowing you even for this short of a time." She hugs me one last time, then picks up her carry on bag and turns to head up towards security. "I'll see you up there Aunt Leah."  
"Meet you in line to board kiddo, or at Cinnabon." Leah waves off her student, her technical niece, and turns to face me. I look into the eyes of the woman I'd been sleeping with for the past six days, the woman I'd shared a bed, not sexually, with for a week before that. I take in every last detail, and I know that this was just an affair really. My heart was Rachel's, unless, some woman out there waited who could match me on my level more than anyone else could.  
I open my arms and embrace Leah one last time, smelling her hair, memorizing that detail too. "It feels like I just had an affair, but I don't regret it. You're right. It is closure."  
She nods into me, and I realize she's memorizing every detail about me too. "I'm serious. No communication, no nada."  
"I respect that. I just..."  
"The sex was great Bruce," she whispers in my ear, nibbling it for the briefest of moments. God, the things having a woman around who's willing to accept me for who I am does to me. "You're a good friend, but I need someone I can trust in my life."  
"Yeah, I know." I feel like I'm letting her down to, but the fact nags at me that I spent a few days shagging someone who wasn't Rachel. The carnal voice in my head pushes the thoughts aside. I got more sex the past few days than I have in years, and supposedly it's healthy. Some article Alfred read to me while I was learning to cook said sex was good for your health. Whatever. "You have to go to catch your flight Leah."  
She pulls back, and I see a couple tears. "I know Bruce." Then her lips are on mine, one arm around me, the other behind my head, and I find myself doing the same thing to her, running my fingers through her hair one last time as her tongue and my tongue dance around each other. I didn't expect it, and I don't care. I'm fucking retired. I'm going back to being the hermit, the recluse after this. I'm not going to do shit but what I feel like it. I'm definitely going to learn archery.  
"Just let me know if you get a better life for yourself Leah. I want you at least to be happy out of the two of us." I look at her bag where she has a check from my account under Evan Branson to her account, labelled for her education to finish. "Live for me. You've got a chance."  
"Neither of us do Bruce," she puts a hand on my cheek, and smiles sadly. "We just need to get up again when we fall down and survive. You'll learn eventually, and when you do, at the top will be someone who can give you better sex than I can."  
"I..." I start to respond to that, to tell her that the sex was great, to tell her that it was cutting me in two, but I know the terms. Besides, it doesn't matter, as she walks away and goes across the line I can't cross without showing a guard a boarding pass. I feel helpless, then I know what I can do. "Leah!" I yell at the top of my lungs. She doesn't turn, but her posture changes, so I continue. "Never forget."  
She raises one hand in the peace symbol, the other in the rock on symbol, changing her walk so that her ass is put a bit more on display, and I'm forced to realize that she's definitely hotter than Rachel by far, even in personality. But my heart is unchanged. So Leah Warner leaves my life, with attitude, just like she entered it all those years ago with the greeting of, after being told to share your name and something about you, with a personality that makes me smile and roll my eyes.  
I turn away myself, before she vanishes away, knowing that it's better that way, and head down the boulevard of shops and counters and people to arrivals, where I smile at Alfred, and help him with his bags. "Hey Alfred, welcome back."  
"Master Wayne," he said with a nod, looking around warily and then nodding sagely, realizing that I looked like just another guy and no one around had noticed that Bruce Wayne's butler was around, flying on a regular man's flight, and being met by a man roughly Bruce Wayne's height and possibly his build. "Will I have the pleasure of meeting Ms. Warner ever?"  
"No Alfred," I tell him, as the look of disappointment clouds his eyes. "She's not meant for me. She's meant for a man who doesn't exit, and never really did."

**AN: Yep, last chapter. I lied. There's an epilogue still left, a bit of fluff that I want to do to tie it up in a sloppy bow full of typos and tired late night name swaps. I'm going to go through and edit it all and change a few things (and mark in caps the chapters with updates) , but this is it pretty much. If you've read the whole thing, or even just parts of, I'm going to beg for the virtual chocolate of reviews, since this little short story meets novella type of thing is the first thing I've completed since July of 2010 when I completed a novel that I'm going to put onto Fiction Press after some extensive editing. Opinions matter, and even if you have serious issues and can only think of one tiny good thing to say, as long as you are polite and respectful, I'll take it. **


	23. Epilogue

Epilogue (9 years later)

"Well, here's to a new job for you, getting you away from Gotham and the memories," I raised my glass of wine as I sat across from Lizzie at the small cafe we'd found near our hotel to go out to for a celebration. She'd managed to, with the aid of the letter of recommendation Lucius Fox had written her, obtain a new job at a small security corporation here in Italy, in a prestigious position in order to get her away from Gotham and all the memories it held. "I only think it sucks that there's such strict weapons laws here."  
"Of course you don't Auntie Leah," she smiled, knowing that I was illegally carrying my Springfield in the purse sitting at my feet. "You never change."  
I shrug. "I have changed, and you know it."  
"For the better. Learing not to carry a gun to protect yourself isn't necessarily the best change." She took a bite of her spumoni and smiled at me. "Look, we both have our traumatic issues, and we've both moved on. I'm still working on forgetting Amanda's death, so I do want you to meet me when I go back to Gotham for the memorials next year."  
I nod at her, then set my empty glass down and grab my purse. "You got the tab, or do I need to get it? I mean, I've been working and all..."  
"I got it. I got a bit of a starter bonus for moving to Italy from my new boss." Lizzie pulled out her own wallet and started to wade through the mess of foreign currency. We'd been travelling around to various job interviews for about a month now.  
"Alright, let me just go to the bathroom really quickly. I'll meet you out front." I wait for her to nod in response, and then turn and pad towards the bathroom in my wedge boots. The bathroom is deserted except for one other woman who is leaning over the counter reapplying a bit of make-up, wearing a blue dress that was understated elegance in a nutshell, her feet wearing a pair of heels without swelling around the ankles, even though her purse was had several museum admission tickets dated today sticking out of it. Hey, old habits die hard and I love to be inquisitive.  
"The Palazzo Pitti? How was it?" I say by way of conversation. The woman isn't startled by my presence, but closes her purse quickly, turning to look at me. She's dark-haired and elegant, and a strand of pearls around her neck makes me realize she must be wealthy, except for the fact that her clothing isn't a designer label. I saw the same dress in a middle price boutique yesterday, now that I look at it more closely.  
"It was fantastic. Very tempting," she said, with a throaty voice and a familiar accent that I realized was Gothamite.  
"Gotham?"  
She hisses in distaste "I'm trying to forget that place, escape it. I'm not as adept as my boyfriend at removing the accent from my voice. But then, he's traveled before." Her use of the word boyfriend seems like a white lie, to hide something else.  
"No offense, but were you there?" I don't ask her, even though I want to, what was so tempting about the Palazzo Pitti. I know that I don't need to specify what there means.  
"Yeah, I was," she whispers, then she steps into a stall to get a piece of toilet paper to dab at her lipstick with. "I don't like to think about it. I made some shitty choices. But a girl has got to do what a girl has got to do, you know?"  
"Yeah. I do." I reapplied my own lipstick less carefully, not needing to worry too much about it smearing, but still taking the same precaution she had, as I try to wrack my mind for why those pearls were so familiar. Then I remember-she's the woman who had been with Bruce in the picture the insider at Miranda Tate's charity masque had taken, and those pearls had been around her neck then, although she'd been photographed leaving without them. "Do you know how he died?"  
"Who?" The woman looked at me curiously.  
"Bruce Wayne," I hiss the name distastefully, because I still hate him even though I respect him and I owe him for doing what he did.  
She laughs. "That bastard. I owe him my new life. I know how he died. He's alive. He's waiting for me outside." She turns to leave. "And if you tell a soul, I will personally hunt you done and kill you." The threat is in a normal voice, but the ice in her tone tells me that she isn't joking.  
"I won't, especially since I know how he died." I promise her, as I go to re-pin my hair. "Just tell him I'm proud of him, and I wish him well."  
The door swishes shut momentarily later, and I know the dark haired mystery woman is gone.

Selina walks out of the bathroom with a bemused expression on her face, and I know something is up when she doesn't argue as I slide into the driver's seat carefully, still recovering from all my injuries. "What is it?" I ask her, kissing her quickly but emotionally before I start the car.  
"There was a woman in the bathroom, she pegged me as a Gothamite and then asked me about you. She knew you were Batman."  
"Were. That's a lovely word." I pull into the traffic and start to head back towards the tiny flat we're renting on the other side of town. I'd only come to this cafe tonight so that I could fulfill Alfred's wish, as a silent thank you to the man I owed so much to. "She say anything interesting."  
"She said to tell you she was proud of you and that she wishes you well." Selina pulls out her phone and shows me a picture as we wait at a traffic signal to enter a round about. Leah Warner looks back at me, standing at a mirror re-pinning her hair. She looks well, and I realize that her job as an analyst for Lockheed Martin-sue me for wanting to see if she was doing well-must be treating her well. She's happy, and the sadness in her eyes is long gone.  
"She still hate me?"  
"You know her then?" Selina asks, putting her phone away, as we start to move again, looking at me curiously. "She seemed like she was more than just a tourist."  
"She's got an interesting story. We went to college together and then she and I had a brief thing about a year after Rachel died." I'd told Selina about the whole Rachel thing. Selina had first met me when I was a haggard bearded cripple in a bathrobe, so she had a bit more context on the matter than Leah ever did. "Her name is Leah Warner," I veered off onto a side street so I could go faster, flooring the accelerator as much as I felt I could afford to in the tiny Fiat. "You told her I'm alive?"  
"Oops, my bad," Selina quipped, causing a chuckle to escape me.  
I think for a moment about whether or not I trust the woman who confused me, and still does confuse me. Then I think about the woman next to me, the woman who made me forget Rachel and helped me to move on and find myself. "It's okay. Where are we going to go next? I'm getting tired of Florence."  
"We? I thought this was a one time deal Mr. Wayne." She purrs seductively and I groan in annoyance as softly as I can, knowing she'll hear anyways. She smiles at me satisfied that she's teasing me without even really doing anything.  
"I'll make you a deal. Don't leave me and you can keep the pearls."  
"I was planning on keeping them anyway." She answers, leaning over to kiss me on the lips even though I'm driving. "Si dovrebbe fermare qui in modo da poter discutere i termini del regime migliore. L'hotel è troppo lontano."  
Shit. She would use Italian. I respond to her highly suggestive use of her newly found linguistic talents by flooring the car even harder, deciding not to care if the carabineri stop us.  
"Nope. I'm going to the hotel. I have to take my meds like the old man I am Miss Kyle. Then maybe we can discuss terms."  
She smiles at me, fingering the pearls and shrugs. "Up to you. You didn't seem like an old man..."  
I turn the stereo on and let the sounds of the CD she'd put in this morning filter over her remarks, smiling at her. I know who I am, and I know that I wouldn't be who I am without Selina.  
"_Alfred,"_ I think to myself as I continue driving towards the flat, knowing that things are looking up in my life for the first time in a long time. _"I've found her, and you've met her. She's unique and perfect for me. I just hope I'm good enough for her. I swear we'll keep the kicking ass to a minimum. I'm too old for things like that anyways."_

**AN: Nope, this is probably going to change a bit when I do the rewrite, but it's the end, and I only own my ideas and my original characters. Part one is Leah's PoV, part 2 is Bruce's, which hopefully both of them are recognizable enough. It's 9 years later, so it's been about a year since Gotham's siege and all that stuff. I decided I didn't want to wade through all that. Any lack of believably I beg to differ but subjecting the reality of fiction to this. Besides, I'm not entirely happy with this anyways. **


End file.
